


Stellaris

by DamnBlackHeart



Category: Pitch Black (2000), Riddick (2013), The Chronicles of Riddick (2004), The Chronicles of Riddick Series, The Chronicles of Riddick: Dark Fury
Genre: Death, Explicit Language, F/M, Horror, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mild Gore, Mild Sexual Content, POV First Person, Science Fiction, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-04-21 19:50:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14292171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamnBlackHeart/pseuds/DamnBlackHeart
Summary: An accident happened in the building Anastasia worked in. It didn’t just change her, but she died and came back to life. In fear of becoming someone’s science experiment, she ran and took on a fake identity. Unfortunately, the ship she got on crashes. It’s not the escaped convict with multiple convictions for theft, desertion and murder that she and the survivors have to worry about. It’s whatever dwells below the surface of the planet.





	1. Don’t Lose Control

**Author's Note:**

> **Author’s Note:** I’ve been debating on whether or not if I should write a Riddick fanfiction. I’ve never imagine that I would get into it, but after reading some really good fics I’ve been getting a bunch of ideas. I figured, I might as well give it a try, have fun with it and experiment.
> 
> First step, is to research the franchise. I like to be canonically correct and knowledgeable on the subjects that I write. Unfortunately, some of the information I found has contradicted each other (such as the novels differ greatly from the films) or it’s seriously lacking in-depth details of the universe (like a map that contains all the solar systems and planets within them). Because of that you may or may not noticed that I made a couple of changes to better fit the story that I want to tell. 
> 
> I’ve always wanted to write something in science fiction, so this is going to be different from what I’m use to. I get to play around with an universe set in the 26th century (Pitch Black is set in the year 2578, and its sequel The Chronicles of Riddick takes place in 2583). There’s a lot of technology, medicine, culture and so on to explore. I’m also writing in first person perspective. I’ve always been hesitant to use it, but I am curious and want to see if I can pull it off. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the Riddick franchise -– Pitch Black, The Chronicles of Riddick and so on. So all publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are mine though. And I’m in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. So no copyright infringement is intended.

Cryosleep, cyrostatis, suspended animation or whatever you want to call it, is something that I hate about traveling in space. It’s a common thing to deal with and most consider it as a small price to pay, in order to make a long trip seem short. But its main purpose is to reduce consumables such as food, water, air and whatever else on the ship. After all, with an inactive crew and passengers you won’t have to worry about running out of food in some random system in a dead quadrant of space.

Unfortunately, the ship I’m on isn’t a pleasure cruise. Instead, I’m stuck with the Hunter-Gratzner, because it’s the only ship in the station that I could afford. It’s a long-range transport, a merchant vessel combined with a freighter and it’s owned by, no surprise, the Hunter-Gratzner Industries Incorporation.

Its destination is the Tangier System which, if I remember correctly contains three habitable planets. Tangier 3 is a predominantly Muslim planet. Tangier 5 is one of the locations that those on Hajj visit. Tangier 6 is, well, I don’t actually remember what it’s known for, besides there being a Shipyard there. There’s also Tangiers Penal Colony, a prison, which is my guess as to where the Marshal and his prisoner are heading to.

They certainly stand out like a sore thumb from the rest of the passengers, which consist mostly of nomadic settlers that are relocating to other planets. There’s also some Chrislams that went on a religious pilgrimage to Tangier 5 and are returning home to Tangier 3. Though I suspect a few of them will be heading to New Mecca on Helion Prime if they haven’t already.

In all, there’s about forty people in here. There could be more or less, but I didn’t bother counting to make sure. I was more focus on being the first one in line to board the ship. I want to pick out my cryopod. Usually I like to stay in the back, away from curious eyes, but I had a bad feeling that this time I better stay close to the cockpit. I’ve learned to trust my sixth sense, or as some call it my intuition at this point. I always found it weird how I’ve managed to avoid and survive plenty of dangerous situations by what seemed like sheer dumb luck.

Anyway, before any of the passengers were allowed to board the ship, the Marshal had been the first one in. He was quick to place his prisoner in cryosleep. It looked like he already made prior arrangements, since there was only one cryopod with warnings labels on it about no early release. I’m not surprise when his prisoner ended up in there. As for himself, he decided being near the cockpit as the best position to be at. 

Like I said before, the both of them stand out from the crowd, especially the prisoner. My eyes kept drawing towards him and it’s not just because he’s easy on the eyes. His presence is difficult to ignore. He radiates raw power and danger, even with the restraints on him. There’s something about him that is oddly appealing. Maybe it’s the thrill of being close to a man that looks so menacing without even trying?

He’s tanned, wearing black cargo pants and a black A-shirt. He’s probably six feet tall, but most of the males on board seem to be taller. Even though he may not be the tallest of the bunch, his muscular form and wide shoulders sure do make up for it. He also got on a blind fold wrapped around his head, a horse bit in his mouth and shackles on. 

The precautions to make sure he’s secure seem a bit overkill. Does that means he’s not your run-of-the-mill criminal? That seems pretty suspicious, now that I think about it. Wouldn’t there be more guys escorting him if he’s that dangerous? Hell, why even risk civilian lives by transporting him with us? Unless the extra restraints is just to make up for the fact that there’s only one guy handling him. 

Speaking of which, there’s something about the Marshal guy that’s off. Whenever I look at him, I get a bad feeling, which is typically a warning sign from my intuition. He’s blonde, blue-eyed and has a southern drawl from what I overheard earlier. He’s got on a long white selves shirt, over it is a black vest with a badge pinned on it, a gun on his belt and black pants. He’s a pretty boy, like one of those that look like they can do no wrong. 

With my luck, his pretty face probably doesn’t match the inside. Being a lawman means that he’s most likely one of those type that take advantage of his position. The ones that people tend to look the other way when they commit a crime. Or if they’re caught, they’re not justly punished.

It’s interesting that I’m getting bad vibes from him. I should be sensing warning signs from the criminal, not the lawman. It’s a weird feeling, like something is festering under the surface. I’ll have to keep an eye on him and keep any interactions with him short. That’s difficult to do when I’ve picked a spot near him. It also doesn’t help that he keeps staring at me lecherously whenever he thinks I’m not looking. 

I found my cryopod, but everyone else was still picking out theirs. Thankfully, we’re allowed to have one small carry-on bag at no extra charge with us. Most people don’t take advantage of that because of how tiny the storage underneath the pod is. It’s only has enough room for items that don’t take a lot of space like medication, documents, toiletries and small electronics. Everything else gets crammed into the cargo section. I like to travel light, but at the same time it’s not like I have much of choice on that matter considering my situation. Sadly, as I bent down to cram my bag into the bottom of the pod, that’s when the Marshal decided to introduce himself.

“Do you need a hand?” he asked, standing behind me and as an afterthought he leaned over slightly to see what I was doing. I’m not stupid. I know the delay was because he was checking out my ass.

“No, thanks. I’m good,” I answered, rolling my eyes and slamming the compartment shut. I stood up straight, giving him a pointed look for standing too close to me.

He backed up a little, leaning against an empty pod with his arms crossed.

“William J. Johns. You?”

“Natasha,” I said, trying to squelch the irritated expression from my face. He waited for a few seconds to see if I would continue. When I didn’t he quipped, “Just Natasha?”

“Tasha works too. Or Nat, but I prefer Tasha more.”

“Then just called me Johns,” he smirked in amusement, “so where are you headed to?”

“Tangier 3,” I said, shrugging. It’s not like it’s a secret that I and a majority of the passengers are heading that way. I rather not tell him my real destination is Helion Prime. That’s just asking for trouble and I don’t need to gain a stalker. As much as I would like to ignore his poor attempt at small talk, it’s best that I stay civil as possible. I don’t want to encourage him, but I also don’t need to make any enemies either, especially one with a badge.

“What about you?” I asked, moving over to make enough room for a passenger to walk by. 

“Business first,” he said, titling his head to the criminal’s cryopod. His eyes darken with indiscernible emotion in thought before he continued, “then if it all goes well, how about you and I celebrate?”

“That is if I’m still around by the time you’re done,” I hummed, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Greg Owens and I’m your navigator. On behalf of Captain Tom Mitchell and the entire crew, welcome aboard the Hunter-Gratzner. If you haven’t already done so, please stow your luggage in the cargo bay and any carry-ons underneath the slot of your cryopod. Please take your seat, strap in and prepare to sleep. If you have any questions or require assistance, my crew members will be making a final round to ensure everyone is secure and set in their pods for cyrosleep.”

“Well, see you at the end of the flight,” I said, opening my pod and getting inside it. He nodded, heading to his and started strapping himself in.

I wasn’t as quick about it as he was. I took my time putting on the straps that kept a person secured in the cryopod during bumpy flights. I watched as the other passengers do the same and the crew members looking over each pod to see if there were any issues. The speakers, crackled a few times, before a second announcement was made.

“Our flight time will be 175 days until we reach our first stop. At this time, all passengers should already be in their pods. Make sure that you’re correctly fastened in. Any portable electronic devices must be turned off and put away in storage. Thank you.”

I hate cyrosleep and most people might ask me why I’m so hanged up on it. It’s not just the fact that it makes me vulnerable in the middle of space. It’s mostly because it doesn’t work that well on me. I’m not normal. I’ve heard that there are those that are more in touch with their primitive side that are still aware when they go to sleep. But for me, it’s not like that. It took me a few years to master control of what I can do, but even then it not always enough. The drugs they pump into a person’s body when it’s time to go to sleep makes my control weak.

The main problem is that there isn’t an off switch to me. I’m essentially a renewable energy source, like the sun. I don’t understand where all this power came from. It wasn’t always like this, but nothing has ever been right when I died. Or maybe there was always something wrong with me and I didn’t realize it until that explosion happen. Either way, that’s another nightmare of a story that I don’t want to get into right now. But it ends with me waking up in the morgue with the medical examiner about to cut me open. The old guy was scared so bad that he died right there clutching his chest.

As far as anyone is concerned Anastasia “Tazia” Valerio was gone. Cremated and her ashes scattered on Agrius. After all, it’s hard to explain how the hell I’m alive after what happened to me. But I take the difficulty of living a life without legit documentation than being someone’s science project. And now, I’m Natasha “Tasha” Brennan. It’s a normal enough name. I like it for the nickname because it’s similar to my original one. It’s easier for me to remember. If I went with anything else, it’ll be obvious that I’m not who I say I am. I know that I’m a terrible liar and the best I can do is half truths. But I rather avoid situations that require me to talk to people altogether. I’m less likely to draw attention that way. And if it can’t be avoided than I stick close to a story that can explain my knowledge and skills if they come into question.

I’m still annoyed that this had happened to me. I poured my blood, sweat, and tears to get to where I was. I sacrifice my social life for it because I never had time. I spent nearly each night either studying, working on coursework or building my own projects. Not a day went by that I wasn’t living off on caffeine to function. It was only when I graduated and got my dream job that everything felt worth it. 

I was three years into my career, establishing myself as a very bright young woman making contributions to the engineering world. It was only a week after I had received a prestigious award of recognition, and another for my newest invention that it all went to shit.

I’m snapped out of my musing when I hear another announcement. “Crew, all passengers should be in cryosleep. Cross-check, report and return to your stations once you’re done.” 

I stop delaying and actually begin the cyro process. I push the button to close the glass door on the pod. It locks and the injections start. I winced as I received the first injection from the machine. The liquid contains all the essential elements, such as cryoprotectants for a human body to function without suffering any damage from the state of being frozen. The monitor on the pod scans me, turning green when my body accepts the shot without any problems. It starts the next and final set, which is the anesthesia that puts you to sleep. After that, the temperature drops to the point where you’re frozen. 

I close my eyes, feeling the drowsiness set in. I’m not completely asleep, because I can still sense my surroundings even though I’m disconnection from my body. Now that I think of it, the closest way I can describe this to is sleep paralysis. Thankfully, there’s no crushing weight or feeling like you’re suffocating by invisible hands. It’s one less thing for me to worry about.

There’s movement outside my cryopod or at least I think there is. No, it’s not movement that I feel, it’s body heat. Possibly from one of the crew members walking down the aisle and checking my cryopod. I can sense other sources of heat too, but they’re weak and further away.

I just hope that I don’t lose control. It’s a long trip and I don’t know if I am able to handle staying in this state for months. A few weeks I can do, a month or two possibly, but years? Just no. I’m freaking myself out at the thought of years. Some trips do take that long, but this one is about five months. Five months is not that bad. I can do it. The more expensive ships would be faster, cutting the time shorter, but again I can’t afford that. 

I can feel myself regaining more awareness. As a result my body is heating up, wanting to fight off the state I’m currently in. My eyes and hands is twitching despite the numbness and the frost coating them. I can’t lose control. I need to stop thinking about it. Focus on something else, something that can keep my mind busy for a while.

It’s quiet and dark. I’m on a ship and in a cryopod. It’s probably made of aluminum and aluminium composite materials, the same things that nearly all spaceships are made of. Aluminum is light but also very sturdy. Using titanium alloys can also strengthen the body of the ship. There’s thermal protection tiles too. That helps ships to survive the heat of leaving the planet’s atmosphere and the re-entry. What else?

Spaceship windows are composed of three panes, each one is made of high-temperature quartz glass that can withstand heating and cooling without cracking. Cryopods contains two panes of a hybrid of two strong types of glass. One of which is capable of withstanding the freezing temperature of cryo and the other is harder and more durable than common glass. 

It won’t be so easy to break if something was to smack into it with a lot of force. That’s a good thing in case the ship’s gravity system was to malfunction or be disable. Whatever isn’t bolted down won’t pose much of a problem for those inside the cryopods. However, the glass would not stand a chance against me if I needed to get out. I can probably melt it or blast the door off if I can get enough room to kick. It’s unlikely that I would ever need to do that, but the option is always there, especially if the emergency release was to ever stopped working.

I’m distracted by the enormous amount of heat at the back of the ship. I could feel the energy building up in the engines in order to blast off into space. I can also feel the body heat of the ship’s crew at the cockpit. It doesn’t take long for the ship to reach maximum power to lift off. The sheer force of the blasts from the rockets has the crew pressing into their seats. There’s a lot of turbulence as the ship rips through the planet’s atmosphere. The ship heats up, but the heat shields does its job of enduring the heat from the force. 

Soon enough, the pressure eases as the ship reaches the vacuum of space. One of the crew members takes control, maneuvering the ship with the help of the rocket propulsion in the right direction. The ship continues to travel, going farther away from the planet, the sun and it’s moons. The autopilot must have taken over, because the crew members unstrap themselves from their seats. Each one goes over to their own cryopod and start securing themselves in it. The last one takes the longest. They are most likely monitoring the others to make sure that they go to cyrosleep successfully, before undergoing it themselves. 

All that’s left is the constant heat of the engines, power cells and the rockets as they continue to power the ship to its destination. I’m once again left alone with my thoughts. Hopefully, at some point my mind will get tired enough that I’ll fall into a dreamless slumber. I could have increase the dosage of the anesthesia shot, but that’s not really recommended. But considering that I’m not normal anymore I’m not even sure that would have worked anyway. It’s barely working now, and that’s only because I’m suppressing the energy inside me. 

Medicine doesn’t have much effect on me and that’s not a good thing if I was ever to get seriously hurt. Can I even be injured? Or even die? It would be good to know my limitation, but I’m not going to be that idiot that cuts themselves or jumps from a building just to find out. For all I know, coming back from the dead could have been a one time thing. 

At least I know I’m durable because I haven’t bruised or broken anything yet. It took a lot of experimenting to figure out what I could do. I lost count of how many times I’ve gotten flung towards the rocky walls trying to master control over my power. Once I got a better understanding of it I utilized my knowledge to help me further. I build a wristband that monitor my energy levels and the radiation that leaked from me. The radiation concerned me at first, but after a bit of testing I realize it has no effect on me. But I couldn’t say the same about my surroundings.

No matter what I did I was constantly emitting radiation, but as long as I was suppressing the bulk of my energy it was harmless to those around me. However, if I started to lose control or kept using my power, the radiation would build up to hazardous levels. I discovered that when I let go of my control just to see what would happen. Plant life decay rapidly, turning to ash beneath my feet and the nearby animals got sick if they were within the non-lethal range. Those closest to me suffer the worst before they died.

I couldn’t risk being around people until I came up with a contingency plan for when I lose control. Not if, when. As much as I liked to think I’ve got good control, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I accidentally hurt someone. I hope that it will never happen, but there’s always a possibility that something could occur. 

I could lose control in my sleep because of a nightmare. I could also get so stressed out, furious or in a lot of pain that it might trigger a meltdown. Whatever the reason, I needed to build something that could handle me in that state. So, I thought of a portable radiation shield to place myself in. The problem was that such a thing was nearly unheard of. No one has managed to make it into a compact device, but that didn’t stop me from trying.

At first, I was focused on building the radiation shield, but it kept short-circuiting every time I tested it. I eventually got it to work, but it could only handle my radiation at certain level. It wasn’t strong enough. Even using myself as the energy source to power the device resulted in it frying. It couldn’t handle both my radiation and the energy in me. I needed something that could absorbed most of my energy without overloading it to be the power source. A rechargeable power cell could work, despite its bulkiness. But that alone wasn’t enough.

Then, I thought about a radiation suit. The problem with that, however, was that they don’t ensure complete protection from all radiation. When expose to radiation, particles end up in your clothes, on your skin and even in your lungs after you breathe them in. With enough exposure time or radioactive levels, a person could still fall ill to radiation sickness.

Besides, I wasn’t trying to protect myself from external radiation. Instead, I wanted to keep it contained within me. That was why I didn’t bother wearing one because I knew it wouldn’t work. At least, not with the usual material those radiation suits are built with. I needed something stronger and that’s why I’m headed to Helion Prime. It’s the perfect location in the system that offers many opportunities and access to materials. I can definitely get what I need there.

I started building my special tactical radiation armor with shielding when I was still on my home planet. I called the project STRAWS because it’s easier to keep track of my notes with a label on them. It’s a work-in-progress and it will take a while to finish, but it’s the only thing I can think of that has a high possibility of being successful. I couldn’t transport it with me, so I had it shipped off ahead of me. 

In the mean time I have to be very careful. I don’t have my wristband on to warn me when I start to lose control. I try not relying on it too much, because I can’t always wear it. It’s not waterproof, so I have to take it off when I have to bathe or I’m around water. I also can’t wear it in a cryopod because it’s unsafe. It’s currently stored away underneath the pod, along with some radiation tablets in case people start getting sick around me. I even have a basic radiation suit, but that’s somewhere in the cargo with the rest of my clothes. 

I won’t have to worry so much once my special suit is built. The only issue I can expect to pop up of is what other people will think of me. I plan to wear it all the time, but that would be strange and highly concerning. I guess I can always design it in a way that it doesn’t attract attention. That will be difficult to do because it will have armor on it and that’s going to be pretty thick and heavy. It has to be in order to prevent the worst of my radiation from leaking out; especially the kind that ends in death.

Unless, I make the suit in two parts. The first part will be the under layer, and it’ll probably be a form-fitting suit made from non-metallic protective materials. It’ll be flexibility and easy to wear clothing over it. That layer alone can prevent people around me from getting sick if I lose control or build up to the first few levels of radiation. But once I go past that I would need the second part, which will be the heavy duty armor suit. 

That would keep the strongest radiation exposure contained. I suppose if I was to go beyond that, the suit would be useless, melting into nothingness and everything around me would turn into an inferno. The shielding would help to reinforce the armor suit to last a bit longer, but there’s only so much it can take too. 

That total meltdown is something I can’t do anything about. Once it happens the damage would have already been done. That’s why my next goal after the suit is built is to find someplace to settle down. A planet with a low population so that if something does happen, not many would die. I’ll probably live in the wildness alone, on the other side of the planet so that the people would have more time and warning to escape. 

It’ll be a lonely existence, but I’ll make the best of this second chance at life. After all, it could have been worst...

Soon enough, my musings and the constant heat of the engines lulled me into a state of sleep and wakefulness.


	2. The Crash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** I know this story is starting off a bit slow paced, but I am setting things up before diving right into the main story. Speaking of which, this fic is mostly base on the film but it’s not going to follow that story completely. I’ll be changing a few things so that it’ll make better sense, adding other elements (such as some things from the novel) and the OC’s involvement/choices will make a difference (so yes, butterfly effect).
> 
> Something I’ve been asked about is the pairing. The romance will also be slow pace. That’s because I find stories more believable and enjoyable when the relationship between the characters grow over time. Which is why she’s not automatically fixated on Riddick. That was always something that annoyed me about OCs in Riddick fics. But there is also the possibility that the OC may not connect with Riddick as I’ve planned and instead might become interested in someone else. Or no one at all.

A monstrous lurch shook me from my dreamless slumber. Something is clearly wrong. There shouldn’t be this much heat and I can hear a faint wailing sound coming from all around me. I use my power to burn out the drugs and melt the frost covering my body. I can now clearly hear the alarms screeching, punctuated by the whine of ripping metal and the fiery hiss of white-hot fragments blowing through the madness. 

As soon as I opened my blurry eyes, I see flashing red lights bouncing off the glass of the cryopod. I winced, briefly shutting my eyes from the harsh red lights. I tilt my head down, letting my eyes adjust as I smacked my hand on the emergency release lever. I tear away at the straps holding me in place and lunged out, grabbing a metal beam that was across from me.

Something must have struck the ship’s hull or exploded. I’m not sure which, but sections of the ship were tearing off. I can feel the heat and random friction of debris hitting each other. The ship is also unstable, shuddering violently. A few of the cryopods in the very back were torn from their placement and sucked out to space by the large rip in the metal wall. That’s not good, we’re losing oxygen too. Other pods seem to have been riddle with jagged holes from the ship’s bolts coming loose. 

There was another wild sway and I nearly hit my head against the beam. The pilot must be dumping the cargo containers to try and slow down the ship. It’s going too fast for them to regain control. That doesn’t bode well for me if they decide the passengers cabin is next. I need to get to the cockpit if that’s the case. I have no interest of finding out what happens to me if I get sucked out into space.

It was difficult to maintain my balance, but I jumped towards the wall, clinging to the handrail. Sparks showered the ceiling and another pod blew open. It nicked my leg as I dropped to the floor to avoid it. I winced at the pain, but I did not cry out. I continue to hold onto the rail, nearly making it to the door, but another explosion shook the ship. My grip weakened and I fell backwards with a short scream, but I grabbed the handrail again.

One of the cargo containers must have collided with another, causing an explosion outside. The ship is taking too much damage, not only from the blast, but everything else is falling apart. We need to find a habitable planet soon, because the ship isn’t going to last much longer in this condition. I manage to get to the door, but it’s sealed shut. That’s a bad sign. A locked door means I could rewire the panel to get it open, but sealed shut only means one thing. Whoever is piloting is going to jettison the passenger cabin to save their own ass. 

They could do it at any moment. I smack the door a few times, causing small dents to appear. The heat in my hands increased and I breath in deeply, trying to stay calm. There’s enough problems happening right now and I don’t need to add onto it by losing control. I breathe in and out, gripping the metal door frame tightly. I can break the door down, but that would weaken the integrity of the ship's hull even more. Instead, I can try prying it open. It’ll be less damaging that way and I can disable the airlocks manually. But I might not have enough time to do that. 

The only option left is to block the door, which can also prevent the pilot from releasing the passenger cabin. The ship’s safety system won’t allow them to disengage the clamps until the obstruction is removed. It won't budge, no matter how many times they try to bypass it either. But I know they won't attempt that, because it will result in their death if they even tried. So, what can I utilize? There’s only cryopods, which are occupied with people. And those metal beams provide support to the ship's hull structure. I can’t touch either of those things.

A huge jolt shook the ship, which began to veer crazily back and forth. I wedge myself against another beam, trying to stay on my feet as the gravity force changed. I push away from it once I’m steady enough, digging my fingers into the sealed door and slowly prying it open. Oxygen floods in, blowing my hair wildly behind me and I’m almost knocked onto my back from the force.

There’s noise somewhere behind me, but I ignored it as I struggle to not let my hands slip. The door is heavy, thick, and I can barely get it open enough. I'm struggling, but I’ve managed to plant my elbow in the middle of the gap. I got that arm keeping one section of the door open, while the other I’m having difficult in doing the same. I catch sight of one of the pods and notice that the passengers inside is starting to wake up.

The ship is shuddering violently. I can feel the entire front section of the ship burning up. I can’t tell if it’s because the pilot is fighting the gravitational pull or is forcing the ship to go through a planet’s atmosphere. The rockets pump out more power and I hear even more metal tearing away. The heat shielding is barely holding it together, but it’s surviving long enough to get the ship pass the atmosphere. If it didn’t everyone would have been incinerated by now. 

We’re going to crash, especially with how fast the ship is going. Next thing I know I’m falling away from the door, practically flying and smacking into a metal beam. There’s a loud screeching sound, and the smell of burnt metal. My back hurts, and I quickly shield my head as small metal fragments rained over me. I find myself sliding away, and I latch on, wrapping my legs around the beam.

At that moment, the entire left side of the ship rips off in chucks and a row of cryopods fall out. I gasp, nearly choking on my saliva and I hold on tighter. I can feel myself lifting off of the floor and being pulled in the direction of the large hole. But my death grip prevents me from being torn away. Waves of dirt rush by and with a loud piercing shrill it all comes to a jarring halt. I smack my head against the bar and shakily let go of it. I collapse onto the floor, trying to recover my breath and give my heart enough time to calm down. 

I sat up and staggered onto my feet, still shaky from the adrenaline. The numbness is wearing off, and I quickly run my hands down my body to see what injuries I’ve gained. I may be stronger and durable than before, but I’m apparently still only human. I grimaced as I find minor cuts, scrapes and bruises, especially around my arms and legs. The worst of it is the throbbing gash at the end of my eyebrow, which thankfully hasn’t bled into my eye. I’ll have to clean it later. I’m not sure where I can find a medical kit in all this mess or if the medical room is even intact.

I moved away, pushing cables, shredded panels and broken wires to clear a path. I spotted Johns’ body laying on the other side of the cabin, near another set of sealed doors. He’s still alive, just unconscious with a bump at the back of his head. He’s fortunate to have grabbed onto something in the nick of time, or else he would’ve been pulled out of the ship too. 

Those still safes in their cryopods are becoming more aware, but it’ll be awhile till they get their bearings. Sometimes, depending on the person they may be able to shake off the chills and grogginess from cryosleep faster. However, their bodies will always be slower to catch up to their minds because you can’t rush the stiffness out of it with sheer will. Well, you could though I don’t recommend it without a warm up first. It’ll be very painful, possibly causing some rips and tears to appear in your muscles and tendons.

I glanced back at Johns, wondering how he managed to wake up so quickly. Despite the unfortunate timing of being out of his pod, he must have set it to trigger the defrost process as soon as any alarms started up. But that doesn’t make sense because all the pods already do that, especially the crews’ pods. However, theirs are altered to speed up the defrost process to get them back to normal much faster. Unless, Johns had planned to get out earlier than the other passengers anyway. Why?

What reason would he need to be out earlier than planned? It would still be a long while till we reach our destination. So, it would be pointless for him to get out to stretch his legs, only to go back to sleep again. I suppose he does have a criminal to keep secure and to do that he has got to be a step ahead. That seems a bit overboard and unnecessary to do if that’s the case. I don’t know, something is just off. It could be the timing or him, maybe both.

What worries me the most is that he woke up at some point after I got out. It’s possible that during that time he may have notice that I was already out of my pod. Did he see my super strength? I can’t exactly explain that away. It’s one thing to say that I rigged my pod for an early release; it’s another when I’m prying open a sealed 100 tons door with my bare hands. 

I can’t go asking him about it either. He may not have seen anything and bringing it up not only makes me sound crazy, but it’ll attract suspicion. But if he did see, I would be confirming what he saw was real. Because for all I know, he might have dismissed it as a delusion or something. Or maybe he was still in the process of dispelling the effects of cryosleep to pay any close attention to me. Either way, I’ll have to keep an eye on him and be extra careful too.

For now, I just need to focus on one thing at a time like who else survived. I ignored Johns’ body and ambled towards the closest cryopod. Inside is a tall woman with curly black hair, wearing a red jacket with a black tanktop underneath and dark red pants. She blinked her gray eyes slowly, focusing on me and staring in confusion. I check her vital signs on the monitor, all green, and activated the released button. The pod’s door opened without any issue.

“First, you need to work out the kinks from being in cryosleep,” I said, examining her over again, “Please lift one arm, okay that’s good, now the other. Good. Are you in any pain?”

“No. Wha-what happened?” she asked groggily. 

“I’m not completely sure. But from what I can tell so far, we seem to have crashed landed on a habitable planet,” I said, helping her to unfasten the straps securing her. 

She nearly fell, but I held her up and she leaned most of her weight on me.

“I got you. Try stretching your legs a bit and when you’re ready I’ll let you go.”

She lifted her leg up, bending it a few times and doing the same to the other. She kept doing that until she was able to stand up completely on her own. I tentatively let go of her, keeping my arm near her. She shuffled her weight on her feet and looked around the wrecked ship.

“Fuck,” she said, catching sight of the gaping hole on the side of the ship. 

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly,” I said, moving away to shut off her pod.

“Are we the only ones?” she shakily asked, rubbing her stiffed neck.

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed, turning around to reassure her, “There are other survivors too. We’re just the first ones awake. Some of them may need a bit of help in getting out, especially with the lack of power and all this debris in the way.”

I moved onto the next pod, kicking some chunks of metal to the side. A man with brown hair, wearing a tan shirt and black boots was inside it. His pod is a bit dinged up, but is still fully functional. The woman follows and looks relieved when she recognizes him. She knocks on the glass to get his attention and he raises his hand onto the glass. She checks over his vital signs before helping him out of his pod.

“You got him?” I asked.

“Yes, thank you,” she said, holding the man close. 

I nod and go onto the next pod, which contain another man. This one is motionless, which isn’t a good sign. By now the passengers should be completely conscious and trying to get out of their pods. If they can, since some of the pods are out of power and others may be blocked or too damaged to be opened. 

The monitor is dead, and I tried to get it back on, but it won’t respond. I frowned, looking over the pod and check the back of it. The wires are ripped out which can explain the lack of power for it and a large piece of metal has punctured the bottom. I don’t see any blood, and he doesn’t appear to have any visible injuries. It’s quite possible he is still alive, but I won’t know for sure until I can get the pod open. 

I quickly look around, making sure that no one is watching and pick up a piece of metal. I jammed it into the pod’s door and push my weight on to it. The door screeches as I force it opened. I checked over my shoulder, hoping that I haven’t attracted any attention. The woman and man are over at Johns’ body, talking and inspecting him over as they helped him up.

I discard the metal shard and pull the door away. I place my fingers on the side of the man’s neck to see if he has a pulse. It’s difficult to tell because his body hasn’t thawed enough from cryosleep to know. There’s nothing else I can do at the moment, but someone will probably have to come back later to see if he’s alive or not. I continued on, noticing that some spots are missing cryopods. A few of them are too damaged with holes and blood covering the glass to bother with. 

The next one I come across contains a young man. He’s trying to push the pod’s door open, but it’s jammed halfway. I kick at it and it opens fully. He sighed in relief, speaking in Arabic in what I believe is in gratitude. He must be one of the acolytes on their pilgrimage. He goes to another pod that holds an older man wearing robes, which I assume is either his father or guardian. I helped him to get the man out of it and soon enough they are both helping a younger boy out. They move onto the next pod once they’re done. Inside is another older boy and they help him out of his pod. 

“This one will not open,” the older man said, looking over to the pod next to it. 

The power is off on it and it was crushed on top, preventing the door from being opened. The woman and man came back, taking a look for themselves.

“We’ll need a torch,” the woman stated, sliding her fingers against the door’s seam. “We won’t be able to get it open from the front.”

“I’ll go look for one. There’s probably one in the cargo,” the man said, leaving. 

“Did you find anyone else?” I asked, curious to see what they talked about with Johns.

“Yes, he went to the front to see if the crew survived. We might be able to figure out what went wrong and where we are.”

That is unusual. I glanced at the pod with the warning labels than back at where Johns was at. I would’ve thought his first priority would be to check up on the criminal. To see if he’s alive or dead, and if it’s the former than to make sure that he’s still secure. Better yet, he should have been standing guard while someone else’s goes to the front to see what happened. 

After all, isn’t it an officer’s code or oath of honor to serve and protect; that duty comes first before anything else? Seems to me that all Johns is concern with is himself. He didn't even spare any of us a glance before heading off. Something about him continues to bother me. And it has nothing to do with him being an asshole and a creep either.

From what I can tell, the criminal is very much alive. I’ve noticed that he emits a lot of body heat than the others do and that would’ve helped him recover from cryosleep much faster. Despite the no early release and lock-down protocol on his pod, he’s quite coherently active. He’s tilting his head to listen better and calmly waiting for something. I wouldn’t be surprise if he finds a way out of his restraints and out of the pod while we’re all occupied. He’s supposedly a very dangerous man and yet he’s being escorted by one officer.

“Hmm, that’s good. It’ll probably help to find some supplies too, like water, food and medicine,” I mentioned, disconnecting the rest of the cables from the pod. “We have no idea how long we’re gonna be stuck here. We’re also lucky that no one we’ve found has got any serious injuries.”

“That is a good plan,” the older man quipped, “once we have search for others, we shall look for supplies.”

“I’m Natasha,” I said, introducing myself, “but call me Tasha, though.”

“Sharon, but Shazza works just the same,” the woman said, pulling back to give me a smile, “wish it was under better circumstances, though.”

“Agreed,” I said, smiling back.

“I am Abu al-Walid, but I am often referred to as Imam,” he said, “Others confused it for a name, but it is actually a title. These three acolytes are Suleiman, Hassan and Ali. I am to lead them on their first Hajj.”

You nodded to the three boys behind him, and they greeted you back in their language. 

“Help me to bring the pod down. The glass is too strong to break and that could injury the passenger inside if we were to try. The only way we might be able to get him out is through the back,” Shazza said, knocking against the metal frame of the pod.

“I’ll disable the latch clamps holding it in place then,” I said pressing down on each latch and rotated it onto the unlocked position, “Okay, we’re good to go.”

All of you turned the pod around and tilt it forward, trying to gently lower it down. The man inside seem to be less disoriented and more annoyed, slapping against the glass and yelling, but his words were muffled. It’s probably a good thing we were unable to hear him since there are children watching and listening.

“What’s left of the cargo section is a mess. It took a bit of digging around to find a cutting torch,” the man from earlier returned, dropping a toolbox next to Shazza.

“This is Zeke,” Shazza said, plopping open the box and pulling out a torch. She put on goggles to protect her eyes and some bulky gloves. 

Zeke nodded his head in greeting and leaned over to look over the tools. He shuffled through it, picking up a pry bar. Shazza began to torch around the pod’s door seam. The progress was slow, but once she was done, she moved back to give Zeke some space. He slipped the bar into the newly cut opening and pushed his weight on it to pop the door out. 

Imam, Shazza and I grabbed onto it and slid it off. The man inside sighed in relief, sitting up and glaring at us all. “It’s about bloody time! Any longer in there and I would have suffocated to death.”

“That’s very unlikely,” I murmured, rolling my eyes. “Ungrateful idiot.”

Shazza and Zeke heard, snorting in amusement. Unfortunately so did the man too.

“And how would you know?” he grumbled, stretching the word ‘you’ out.

I examined the pod closest to me, estimating its measurements and its total volume. “Hmm, let’s say the total volume of a pod is 54.096 cubic inches, or 886 liters and so is its internal volume. And the average volume of a human body is 66 liters. That leaves 820 liters of air, one-fifth of which -- 164 liters is oxygen. If a trapped person consumes 0.5 liters of oxygen per minute, it would take almost 5 and a half hours before all the oxygen in the pod was consumed,” I explained, crossing my arms. “Of course, that amount of time varies because it depends on the size of the pod, how calm a person is and if they are small in stature.”

Everyone looked a bit dumbfounded, eyeing me with curiosity.

“Everyone knows that you have a limited amount of oxygen when trapped. But not everyone is in the right state of mind or willing to use math to try, and calculate how much time they have left.”

“But most people only know the basics of math,” Zeke said, raising his eyebrow. “And they can’t do mental calculations that fast.”

“I went to a really good school.”

They continue to stare.

“For engineering,” I sighed, knowing it won’t matter at this point in keeping it a secret.

“That would explain it,” Shazza said, shrugging nonchalantly. She packed the tools into the box, keeping on the goggles and gloves. “Don’t worry. You’re not the only one who’s education sometimes shows.”

The youngest boy, Ali came over to Imam and tugged on his robe. He bent down, listening to whatever he was telling him and patted his head. 

“He has found someone else who is trapped as well,” he said, following Ali.

The man in the pod stayed behind, while the rest of us followed behind Imam and Ali. The person inside is another young boy, about the same age as Ali, no more than ten or twelve years old. Any concerns we had about him being dead were erased when he started waving at us as we approached. We made sure the pod was disconnected before we flipped it over and use the torch on the jammed cryopod. When that was done Zeke used the bar to pry it opened.

The boy crawled out, smiling at us with bright eyes. “Something went real wrong, huh?”

“Got that right,” Zeke said, offering a hand to help him stand up. “Introductions will have to wait. We haven’t finished searching for others.”

“We should start looking for supplies too, like medicine and water,” I mention, wondering if anyone else is beginning to feel a little thirsty. 

“We’ll get this done faster if we split up,” Shazza suggested, pulling off the goggles and gloves. She threw them back into the toolbox and Zeke passed her the pry bar to put away too. “This will stay here in case we find someone. There’s no need for any of us to go running around trying to find where the other is with the box.”

“We will search this way,” Imam said, nudging Ali in the direction behind him to join up with the other two boys. While searching, they seem to also stop at each pod to say a prayer for those who were gone. Zeke and Shazza went to explore the other side of the ship, while I stayed behind. I needed to see if my stuff was still intact. Hopefully, my water bottle hasn’t been punctured because I could go for some water right now. 

I backtracked, passing the pod that contain the ungrateful man who must have wondered off somewhere. I stopped at the third pod I checked to see if the man inside is alive. I press my fingers to his neck again. Sadly, there still is no pulse and I also used his wrist to double check. Nothing. I don’t feel any heat from his body either and he had plenty of time to defrost too. He’s definitely dead. At some point we’ll have to collect all the corpses on the ship and buried them. It’s not only the right thing to do, but it’s sanitary. We can’t leave their bodies out in the open, attracting whatever predators are on this planet or begin a disease outbreak.

I continued on, reaching my pod and pulling out the little compartment. Shuffling through my small bag, I’m relieved to find that my things are still in perfect condition. I pop the seal and take a sip from my water bottle. I wasn’t paying attention earlier, but I could sense a heat signature behind me. It’s small, most likely one of the kids. 

“Do you want a sip too?” I asked, looking over my shoulder.

“Sure,” the energetic boy said, eyeing the freshly opened bottle.

I passed it to him, and he took a few sips. Interesting enough, I don’t sense the criminal’s body heat in his pod anymore. Either he’s taking this chance to put some distance between him and Johns, or he’s getting revenge. I don’t know the type of person he is, some would feel that getting revenge is more important than freedom. But I think that’s stupid. I would rather run, find a ship and hightail it to the other side of the universe until things cool down. 

I also don’t know what the criminal will do to get what he wants. He may leave us alone, because we’re not the biggest threat to him, Johns is. But, he might not. He could be one of those sickos that get their kicks in killing people, even those that aren’t in his way. I’m not to worry about him, because if he tries anything I will make him regret it. 

I’m still going to be careful, though. I don’t want to reveal anything important about myself. But I know I won’t always have a choice in the matter if something does happen. I certainly don’t want to find out what I’ll do if I’m caught off guard. Or what might happen to the people that could get caught in the crossfire.

Jack finished taking some sips of water and then fixed his hat to fit his head better. “Thanks!” 

I smile, slipping on my wristband and activated it. The readings on it indicate that the radiation around me is still in the safe levels. That’s good. I wouldn’t want to make the situation worst by giving everyone radiation sickness too.

He passed me that bottle and kicking a metal shard to the side. “What do you think happened?”

“Either something exploded within the ship or we got hit with something,” I said, shrugging while attaching the bag to my belt. “The more important question is what are we gonna do now. To get that answer we need more information on our situation. All we know is that we’re stuck on an unknown planet, which thankfully has breathable air.”

Before he could ask how I know I pointed to the giant hole in the ship behind him. 

He turned, “Oh.”

He walked over to it, taking a look at the sandy and arid planet we crashed landed on. “Guess we’re lucky too that it’s not extremely hot or cold.”

I blanched at his words, “Don’t jinx it. It could still happen. If not, there are other ways that this planet can still kill us.”

I pushed away from my pod.

“I’m heading up to the cockpit. We might be able to get some answers there. But there’s a strong possibility that the nose of the ship didn’t survive the crash landing,” I said, frowning. “It’ll be hard to get information if all the equipment is destroyed, unless the crew is alive.”

“I’m coming with,” he said, walking besides me.

“I’m Tasha,” I said.

“Jack,” he said smiling, “Jack B. Badd.”

“Cute.”


	3. I’m An Engineer, Not A Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** This chapter turned out to be longer than I expected and I'm still not finish writing for it. I had to cut it because it may be a while until I actually finish it. And I didn't want those interested in the story waiting an eternity for the next update.
> 
> Something I forgot to mention is why I rated this M. The film, Pitch Black itself is rated R for violence, death, gore, alcohol, and language. So of course, those things will appear in my story too. There is also some profanity, but it’s not excessive. I tend to avoid it, but sometimes I can’t because not only is it realistic, but I want to be true to the characters. Sometimes profanity is the only way for them to emphasis on the seriousness of a situation. Or sometimes it’s the only thing that comes to their mind that perfectly sums up their feelings about something too.

Jack and I were almost to the front of the ship when we heard loud voices. The first person we spotted was Johns with a modified shotgun strapped to his back and a pistol at his belt, which he didn’t have before and a short haired blonde woman. She was leaning over something and it looked like a person. Imam’s group, Shazza, Zeke and the ungrateful man came over from various directions, probably drawn to the commotion. 

I was the first one to reach them, quickly spotting a man on the ground. He was still strapped onto to his chair, which must have been ripped from its moorings in the crash. With a quick look around I recognize our location it’s the navigation bay, which is in the main cabin of the ship. I could be wrong, but the man on the ground must be our navigation officer, Greg Owens. He might be dead because he’s not moving and there’s a metal rod impaling him.

The blonde woman reached out to touch him, possibly to check if he’s truly dead.

With a suddenly jolt, he yelled out loud, “...out, out, get it outta me!”

The woman recoiled, bumping into Johns. At the same time the other survivors appear behind Jack. “Omigod...” someone whispered.

“Pull it out of him now!” another voice croaked. 

The blonde woman dazedly, reached out.

“No, it’s too close to his heart.”

Another voice cut in, “You gotta do it, just do it fast.”

Before anymore stupid suggestion could be made, I moved closer and leaned besides the woman. The man is lucky, because despite what someone thought, it’s nowhere near his heart. It’s actually punctured his shoulder and he’s more likely to survive that than if it was near his heart.

“First, we need to get him outta this chair,” I said, unbuckling the straps to get him out of it without making his injury worst. He groaned, as Zeke and Shazza came over and helped me lay him on the floor.

“What else can we do?” Shazza, asked while looking at his injury.

“I need something to stop the bleeding,” I said, checking to see if the rod went completely through his shoulder. It did. I have put pressure on both sides of the wound. “Bandages, shirt, whatever you can find because right now, the biggest threat to his life is bleeding to death. We can’t remove the rod right now because it might have hit an artery. If it did than it’s the only thing preventing him from bleeding out. Besides, we don’t even have any medical equipment to properly patch him up if we were to do so. Unless someone was lucky enough to find a medical kit on their way here?”

I looked up, noticing that some were looking away and others were frowning and shaking their heads.

“Great, just great,” I sighed, knowing that the man’s chance of survival is very slim.

“Here, use this,” Zeke said, taking off one of the shirts he was wearing and ripping it apart.

I took the rags and wrapped them around the wound, front and back. “What about the medical bay?”

“It is in poor condition,” Imam said, “all the equipment and medicine have been rendered useless or destroyed in the crash.”

“Can anything be salvage from it?” I asked, frowning. “He’s not going to make it if I leave him like this. He needs more than just stitches. I’m not a doctor, but I did take a course on first aid and emergency survival medicine. I can improvise if need be. I would need something to sterilize his wound and for any tools I use on him, like rubbing alcohol, hydrogen peroxide or even cheap spirits such as vodka. But if none of that survive the crash, an open flame could work just the same.”

I bite my lip, thinking on what else I would need in order to help him.

“Surgical gloves. If not, I’ll have to find something to thoroughly wash my hands with. Pain relief medicine too. It’s going to hurt a lot once I start patching him up. I’ll also need a scalpel or a knife, a thread; suture material would be ideal, but if not, dental floss could work too, a needle, scissors and a needle nose plier.”

“I will go look again and hope that we will find what you need,” Imam said, leaving and nudging the boys with him. A small part of me thinks it’s also an excuse for him to drag the boys away from the sight of possibly dying man.

“Can a cutting torch work to serialize tools?” Shazza asked, taking off her jacket and putting it on top on the console. “You can use this for bandages if you need it.”

“Yeah, that will do.”

“I’ll go get it,” she said, but before she can leave the lanky man stopped her. 

“...I may have some vodka,” he said, hesitating. “It’s in cargo and I will need some help in getting to it.”

“I’ll go with you,” Zeke said, leading him out of the cabin to get it and Shazza follow behind.

The short haired blonde woman stayed silent, standing next to Johns and watching with an indescribable expression on her face. Jack stayed next to the entrance, watching the man and I with a morbid fascination. Johns too, seemed to eye me strangely, maybe in curiosity or suspicion? The woman came closer, and I looked back at her, while keeping pressure on the man’s wounds.

“Will...will he be okay?” she asked, concerned.

I look down at the man, studying his features. He’s a bit order and attractive I suppose. But he’s obviously suffering from some blood loss, making him pale with his blue eyes unfocused and breathing heavily. He’s in a lot of pain and fading in and out of consciousness from it.

“His injury is survivable, but in this situation his chances don’t look good. We don’t have the proper equipment or medicine to ensure he’ll live. His chances decreases even more if any complication occurred that are out of my skill and knowledge range,” I said, frowning. “I’ll try my best to save him, but I can’t make any promises about it.”

Shazza came back with the torch and a bag. She kneed down besides me, pulling out the contents. “There are some clothes and blankets in here. Figured it’ll be good to have in case there’s no bandages. There’s a flashlight too.”

“Thanks, every little bit helps,” I said.

“You ever done this before?” Johns inquired.

“This in particular?” I answered, frowning while I looked over my shoulder at him. “No. The worst I ever had to deal with was when someone fell and broke their leg. They had an open fracture, which is when the break is severe enough to puncture through skin. There was also a time when someone had lost a finger and another that had their whole hand crushed under a machine. But those weren’t as bad as the first.”

I turned back to Owens, studying the injury. I’m not completely sure but from what I can remember of the medical diagrams, the rod seem to have hit the area between the scapula and the clavicle. And at the angle it’s at it could have missed the axillary artery completely. Maybe it won’t be too bad, but I won’t know for sure until I get a closer look at the wound.

“If the situation was different. I would have just stopped the bleeding and kept him immobile to reduce his pain and to prevent any further injury. I also wouldn’t attempt to remove the rod because it could be what’s clotting the wound, and removing it could cause severe bleeding. Basically, the goal would have been to keep him stable for as long as possible, so that an emergency medical personnel could take over and actually treat him.”

“That’s not gonna be happening anytime soon,” Johns said. “It’ll be weeks or months before anyone realizes we’re missing or that the ship hadn’t reached its final stop.”

“Exactly. If we knew help was on it’s way in an hour or in a day I would’ve done that. I suppose I could still do that in hopes we’ll be rescued soon, but realistically they won’t be coming that quickly. Besides, the longer his wound is left untreated, the greater the risk of an infection occurring.” I said, biting my lip.

“It’s a good thing you’re here then,” Jack retorted, “he would be dead if it was just us.”

“I haven’t helped him yet,” I said, “anything could still go wrong.”

Zeke came back, holding a bowl filled with things. The other man followed behind him, carrying two bottles of alcohol. “We found dental floss, a pocket knife, scissors, pliers, thread and needle used for sewing clothes, a roll of fishing line and a fishing hook too,” Zeke said, placing the bowl next to me.

Shazza took a shirt from the pile she found, laying it down on the floor and spreading the items out on top of it.

“We ran into Imam on our way here. He found bandages and gloves. He’s still looking for more things,” Zeke said, grabbing the alcohol bottles from the other man. “Mostly medicine, but it doesn’t seem we’ll be that lucky.”

“Thanks,” I said, scanning the items. “This is certainly better than nothing. I will make it work. Someone needs to keep the pressure on his wounds while I prep.”

Shazza nods, taking over for me. I grab a shirt to wipe some of the blood off. Then I used the soap with a bit of the alcohol to wash off the rest from my hands. With clean hands I put on the surgical gloves and put some of the alcohol onto the bowl to serialize the knife, needle, pliers and the dental floss. I breath in, trying to ignore the coppery scent of blood.

“I need to clean the wound, but first the bar needs to be pulled out and I’ll have to work quickly to stitch him up. Not just in the front, but the back wound too. I really hope that the rod didn’t hit the axillary artery. If it did, I would need to tie off the bleeding vessel and that’s not something I’m confident I can do. I do know that he’ll need a blood transfusion or blood pills afterwards. We have none of that, though. If he manages to survive all that, he’ll also need a tetanus booster and some antibiotics to prevent an infection,” I said, thinking out loud as I thread the floss threw the needle.

I place it down on the clean shirt, motioning for Zeke to pick up the scissors. “You’ll have to cut a hole around his injury so that I have easier access to it.”

When he was done, he ripped a few more clothing for me. He handed me a clean rag, and I soaked it in alcohol. I kept the bottle close as I will need to pour directly into the wound once I’m done.

“You will have to keep putting pressure on the back wound, especially when I remove the rod,” I said to Shazza, and I turned to Zeke. “You will have to hold him down so that he’s still as possible.”

Zeke moved into place, keeping a firm grip on Owens. Before I could stop the blonde woman, she bent down brushing her fingers against the metal bar. Owens twitched in pain, his head snapping towards her.

“Don’t touch it! Don’t touch that switch!” he yelled, his eyes making contact with hers.

“Doncha you got some drugs for him?” Jack asked, trying to get a better look.

“Don’t touch that switch!” 

“I’m sorry, sorry...I think there’s anestaphine in a box on the wall, at the end of the cabin...next to...” the blonde woman said, stepping back regretful.

The section of the ship she’s talking about was gone. Owens yelling turns into mumbles once she’s out of sight. I do have some pills, but they aren’t strong enough to block the kind of pain he’s in. They’ll be useless at this point.

“The pain is going to be worst once I get started, hopefully he’ll pass out during it,” I added, steeling myself for what I have to do.

“Ready?” Shazza asked.

I nodded and she removed her hand from the front, dragging the bloody cloth with her. The sight of the injury made me queasy, but I fought it down and concentrated on what I needed to do. I glance at Zeke and he nods too, tightening his hold on Owens. As I pull the bar out, Owens is screaming and struggling, but it’s abruptly cut off as he passes out from the excruciating pain. I throw the bar away, quickly placing the clean and alcohol soak cloth onto his wound.

I begin wiping and pouring alcohol over my gloved hands again and then onto the wound. Blood pours out and I clean as much as I can while examining the wound for any foreign matter. He’s very lucky that it barely missed the artery. I sigh in relief, doing my best to disinfect as much as I can. I pick up the knife to carefully cut away loose or jagged edges around the wound. This is necessary to prepare the edges of the wound for a clean suture. I pick up the needle and pliers, pushing the needle into the skin and with the pliers I pull it out. I repeat the process as quick and neat as I possibly can. When I’m done sowing his wound shut I pour alcohol onto it.

“Okay, turn him. I need to get his back too,” I said, using my forearm to wipe some of the sweat from my forehead. It’s not because it’s hot, but because this is so stressful. I never expect to be in a situation where I would actually need to use what I learned for work to save someone. First aid was a requirement, because accidents tended to happen in the engineering field. I thought it would look good on my resume if I went a little extra and took a survival course, mostly for the medical aspect.

I aimed to be a chief engineer. My work experience was growing, but I knew it wouldn’t be enough to get that position just yet. I still needed a few more years of experience, at least ten years to be even considered for it. I also needed something to differentiate me from the other candidates once I applied for it. It would be difficult for me since that field is still uncommon for women to be in. But all of that doesn’t matter anymore.

Shazza pulled away, going somewhere to wash off the blood on her hands. Zeke carefully turned Owens onto his side, making sure that his wound doesn’t touch the dirty floor. I exhaled, cleaning and repeating the entire procedure for the back wound. There’s no tape for me to put the bandage on, so I had to wrap it around him and tied it. 

I leaned back, relieved to finish without any complications. My back aches as I stand up, grabbing a clean rag to wipe off my bloody hands. I check his pulse, concern at the rate it’s going.

“He should be fine for now,” I said, helping Zeke to move him onto a clean blanket. “But there’s still risk of him reopening his wound or getting an infection.”

“When will he wake up?” the blonde woman asked, clenching her pants and staring intently at Owens.

“I’m not sure. It’ll probably be a while since he did lose a lot of blood,” I said cleaning and wiping down the tools, before placing them inside the bag that Shazza bought along earlier. We might need these things again, and it’ll be convenient if it’s all in one place. When everything was put away I set aside the bag, next to the navigation console.

“Let us hope that he does not wake anytime soon,” Imam said, walking inside the cabin. “He is not in pain this way. We’ve search more thoroughly and unfortunately we did not find any pain medication.” 

“That is true. All we can do now is check his wound once in a while for signs of infection. We’ll have to try and prevent it, but it typically develops within seven days,” I said. “If we’re lucky, rescue might not take too long to reach us and then we’ll be able to get him the proper care he needs.

“Rescue is coming, right?” the lanky man asked, looking towards the blonde woman.

“I need a few moments to myself, please,” the woman said, ignoring the question and leaning against a beam while holding her head. “Just a few...”

“Okay, just call me if he wakes up or something is wrong,” I said, getting up and following behind the others as they head out.

Jack lagged behind to watch the woman, but Johns doubles back and collar him. Leaving, they catch up to me and we pass the criminal who’s cuffed to a bulkhead. His eyes, still hidden by a blindfold, track us as we walked towards daylight. I paused, staring at him and he breaths in deeply through his nose. My eyes narrow on him, wondering why I don’t feel scared around him when I should be.

I think it’s because I don’t take other people’s words about something or someone being dangerous or bad until I see for myself. And it helps that I know I can protect myself too. But how did he get there? Did he escape and get caught again? Or did Johns just move him away and I assume incorrectly that he escaped earlier? I guess that doesn’t matter now.


	4. G System

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** I’ve been experiencing an issue with my laptop, so it’s possible that it might stop working one of these days. Hopefully, I can figure out the problem before it does.
> 
> Anyway, not much of Riddick here but I promise that he’ll show up in the next chapter. With all this build up I hope their first meeting isn’t a disappointment. The next update may take a while, but I’m surprised that I’ve been able to keep up my goal of at least one update a month. Usually I aim for twice a month, but I can’t predict what life will throw at me and how long my inspiration will last. Plus, I have other stories that I need to give my attention and time to work on as well.

I joined the survivors as I straggled outside. The valley floor was sandy with low hills to one side and spiked with earthen spires. Scorching down upon everything was two suns; one red and one yellow.

“Well. Our own little slice of heaven,” the lanky man said, frowning in distaste at the scenery. He pulled off his glasses, squinting at the brightness and wiping them clean before putting them back on.

“What’s your name?” I asked, glancing at him.

“Paris P. Ogilvie and you?”

“Tasha.”

The Chrislams fell to their knees and Imam picked up some sand, letting it slip through his fingers. “Which way to New Mecca? We must know the direction in order to pray properly,” he asked.

“North? South? East? West? Nobody knows,” Johns said, snapping open a compass and finding the needle swaying uselessly. 

He and the Paris walked away, leaving Imam’s group alone. I watched as they devised a way to pray and they decide to put their backs together, so that each one faced a different compass point.

Jack hummed besides me and I turned around searching for where Zeke and Shazza have gone to. The blonde woman came out, taking a look at our surroundings and shook her head. She began climbing up the side of the ship, stopping a few times to wince and shake her hands from the hot metal. Looking up on top of the ship I spotted Zeke and Shazza were already up there, most likely to get a better view of the land. Johns and Paris were also making their way up there, having a head start before the blonde woman.

I nudged Jack to get his attention and pointed up at the others. Before he could start climbing up the ship I stopped him. “The outside of the ship is still hot from the crash, so you’re got to be careful where you put your hands at. Use your sleeves if you’ve got to grab on something when you’re going up,” I said. I help him up and made sure that he didn’t slip.

I followed behind, letting my hands heat up before grabbing onto the hot metal with my bare hands. Getting close to the top of the ship Zeke offered me his hand after Shazza helped Jack up and away from the edge. I smile at him in thanks and quickly shook the energy from my hands. I grabbed his when it was safe and he helped me the rest of the way.

“There’s big talk about a scouting party...” Johns said, giving the blonde woman and myself a chance to see everything before he continued on, “then we saw this.”

We see a huge smoldering pit in the ground behind the ship. The trail of debris stretched beyond what we could see and it continued into the desert dunes. With that kind of wreckage, it was doubtful that there were any other survivors from the crash.

“Is anyone else having breathing problems?” Paris asked, looking at each of us, “Aside from me?”

“Like I just ran or something,” Jack voiced, tugging at his collar to get some fresh air to cool his neck. 

“Feel one lung short. All of us,” Shazza confirmed, breathing in deeply.

“Well, I tend towards the asthmatic and with all this dust...” Paris said, waving his hand vaguely in the air before him.

Now that I think of it I don’t feel any different, but I also don’t feel the heat like they do. With a quick look around, most of them are sweating and are short of breath. “I suppose it’s a bit like climbing the highest mountain where the air is only about one-third as dense as the air at sea level. With each breath it’ll be a challenge to get enough oxygen.”

“It might take a few days for our bodies to get use to it,” the blonde woman added.

“For now we’re okay, but I can see this becoming a problem the longer we’re stuck here,” Shazza said, pushing some strands of her hair behind her ear.

“Oh, I was wondering is the man that I helped the navigation officer, Owens?” I asked, wanting confirmation on his identity.

“Yes,” the blonde woman said, “he would know better than me on where we are.”

“And you are?” I asked.

“Carolyn Fry,” she replied, “a pilot.”

“Is he still unconscious?” I asked, wondering if it was a good idea to leave him with her. I don’t trust her. Not just because of what she was planning to do, but because she did just leave him with a criminal basically in the other room.

“He was still asleep when I left him,” Fry said, biting her lip. 

“We can’t leave him alone for too long,” I stated, looking at Jack. “Can you go ask Imam to keep him accompany?”

“Sure,” he went off, not having to go far to pass on the message.

“So, what the bloody hell happened, anyways?” Zeke asked and everyone looked towards the blonde woman, hoping she had some answers.

“Something knocked us off-lane. Maybe a rogue comet? Maybe we’ll never know,” she responded.

“Anything else?” Johns prodded.

“Like what--” but she was interrupted.

“Well, I for one am thoroughly fucking grateful. This beast wasn’t made to land like this. But cripes, you rode it down,” Shazza said, turning to the rest of us, “C’mon, you lousy ingrates, only reason we’re alive is because of her.”

The others chime their agreement, laying thankful hands on her shoulders. The woman’s face is blank, betraying nothing as they anoint her their savior. I stayed silent, knowing full well that she didn’t deserve it because she intended to purge us all into the abyss. I would say something, but we have more important things to worry about.

When they were all done, I spoke up. “Shazza is right. The oxygen deficient in the atmosphere is gonna be an issue. I rather we do something about that now than later. And the last time I check most ships have some sort of portable oxygen tanks or respirators.”

“There are some pressure suits in the main cabin,” Fry suggested, “we can use the liquid oxygen canisters that comes with them.”

“That will work,” Shazza agreed.

We all head back down and into the main cabin. We passed by the criminal and than Imam’s group as they watched over Owens.

“Start ripping them out,” Fry said, passing a suit to each of us. “Quick hits only; try to make it last.”

“I’ll see ‘bout makin’ this air go a bit further. With your permission, of course,” Zeke asked, looking at her.

Fry blinked in surprised, but nodded in response. Zeke and the others got to work in removing them from the suits. I didn’t really need it, but I unattached it from the suit anyway and pass it onto Zeke to work on. I stood besides her, keeping my back towards the others. From the corner of my eyes, Johns shuffled closer, but I’m not too sure if I imagined it or not. “You haven’t actually confirmed if rescue is coming for us,” I whispered. I have my suspicion as to why she hadn’t answered.

She paused, looking down. “I...I don’t know.” She glanced at the group behind me and whispered, “the emergency transmitter activates automatically when the ship has taken on a lot of damage, but...”

She paused, her eyes scanning at the state the ship is in.

“It didn’t survive the crash landing to continue transmitting,” I finished, grimly.

She nodded.

“And I’m guessing there’s no way for us to contact anyone either. Do you think Owens was able to send out a distress signal?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Too bad we can’t ask him,” I said, sighing. “We have two options than. We can rescue ourselves, which I’m not sure is even possible or we play the waiting game for a rescue that may never come. Or if it does come, it might be too late. Probably the latter, since a huge company like the Hunter-Gratzner is going to eventually notice that their ship filled with passengers and valuable cargo is missing.”

I looked towards the group, crossing my arms. “If we were lucky this planet would have had a settlement on it. But it doesn’t. People would’ve been rushing over here by now to investigate.”

Jack popped up next to me, unexpectedly. In my surprise I nearly lost control, but I quickly reign in my power. This planet has too much energy, most of which is all coming from the heat. Because of that, I’m having a hard time keeping track of everyone since they all blur together. 

It’s commonly known that the universe is made up of matter and energy. Matter is made up of atoms and molecules and energy causes the atoms and molecules to always be in motion - either bumping into each other or vibrating back and forth. The motion of atoms and molecules produces a form of energy called heat or thermal energy which is present in all matter. Even in the coldest voids of space, matter still has a extremely small but some measurable amount of heat energy.

I’m unable to feel it when there’s so little amount giving off energy, and more so when it’s surrounded by something stronger. And the thing about energy is that it can take on many forms and can change from one form to another. Many different types of energy can be converted into heat energy. Light, electrical, mechanical, chemical, nuclear, sound and thermal energy itself can each cause a substance to heat up by increasing the speed of its molecules. 

This planet has a lot of energy. There are two suns baring down upon us, possibly a third sun too. But I’m not completely sure about that because whatever it is, it’s farther away and on the other side of the planet. But I’m most likely correct because I don’t know anything else that could give off that same amount of heat energy as a sun would.

Sand is also everywhere, which adsorbs the two sun’s rays like a sponge and we’re in a broken metal ship. It doesn’t help either that we’re all clumped together in the same spot too. If I concentrate I can vaguely tell where everyone and everything that produces energy or heat energy is at. I don’t want to be caught off guard, but it’s hard to do when there’s a constant buzzing feeling at the back of my mind that keeps bothering me. 

I’ve been doing my best to ignore it as much as possible, but my attention keeps slipping at times. It would’ve probably drive anyone else nuts, being constantly aware of everything that has or gives off energy. Something about this planet is strange too. It shouldn’t be this...active? I don’t know, it’s a bit hard to pin down what it is. Sometimes it feels like there’s a giant lava swimming underneath our feet and other times it reminds me of a city filled with people.

Jack focused his attention on Fry. She stepped back, giving Jack more room to talk to us both. 

“Well, is someone coming for us? Or are we all just gonna die of exposure or dehydration or sunstroke or maybe even something worse?” he asked loudly, and after noticing our expressions added, “Hey, you don’t have to worry about scaring me.”

Fry frowned, looking back at me. But thankfully Shazza cut in, drawing Jack’s attention to her. “We’re worried you’ll scare us,” she said, ushering him away. “Name’s Jack, right, love? And you’re going to Taurus Three like some of us are?”

“Yeah, but, do we even have enough food to get there? Or will we have to resort to cannibalism?” Jack asked, concerned.

“You don’t need to worry about that. We’ve only just crash landed on the planet. So we gotta focus on one thing at a time and not think of the what ifs,” she said, having him sit besides her. She continued distracting Jack, showing him how to modify the oxygen canister to last longer.

Fry moved into the other section of the cabin, the one containing the criminal and I followed behind her. She stared at him, pursing her lips. “What are we gonna do with him?”

“Big Evil?” Johns replied, having followed behind us into the room. 

“Are we gonna keep him locked up forever?”

“Be my choice. Already escaped once from the max-slam facility on--”

“I don’t need his life story. Is he really that dangerous?” she interrupted.

“Only around humans.”

I roll my eyes at that response and asked, “I’m not going to be calling him that. So, what’s his name?”

“Richard B. Riddick. He’s a violent sociopath and a murderer that’s wanted on five planets in three systems,” Johns answered.

“Okay. Good to know,” I hummed, distracted by what the chained up man was doing. He lifted himself up towards the ceiling, straining against the cuffs. With the horse-bit still strapped his to mouth, he titled his head up and something dripped down onto his face. He angled his head, letting whatever it was dribble down into his mouth. Fry moved closer, getting a better view of whatever the liquid was.

“Oh, Christ...” she cursed, suddenly running and snatching up an emergency light that was strapped to the wall.

“The fuck--”

I ran after her, not hearing the rest of what Johns was going to say. I wonder if it’s what I think it is. Because the last thing we need right now is to lose water in a desert planet with two fucking suns.

Fry hurriedly climbed up the wall-rungs and crawled through the dusty superstructure to reach the water cistern. She opened the crank hatch and found light invading the interior.

“Fuck...” her face blanched at the sight.

“How bad is it?” I shouted, looking up into the opening in the ceiling.

Zeke rushed in and yelled. “Well? Is it just the pump?”

I see flashes of the hand light and occasionally sounds of her movement, but she stayed silent.

“Her lack of response doesn’t bode well,” I said, when a minute had nearly passed by without a word. I grimaced, imagining what kind of panic this news might invoke in the others.

“Please, let it be the pump. We can fix that,” he mumbled, handing me a respirator. “We’re still working on them, but I got yours done. After this, we were thinking of finding whatever we could and fill it up with water. But then we saw her running here. Johns said that some sort of liquid was leaking down and I just knew.”

“This is a big problem,” I said, moving away from the wall and putting the respirator around my neck. I don’t need it, but it’s there if I ever do. “Unlike food, the maximum time an individual can go without water seems to be a week. That estimation gets shorter if we include other factors, like the environment and its temperature.”

“We won’t last long in this broiling heat,” Zeke concluded, grimly.

Fry appeared in the opening. “Ask if anyone has anything in cargo. Anything to drink!” she clarified, turning the hand light off.

Zeke left to ask the others and I stayed, making sure that Fry didn’t slip as she climbed down. I may not like her, but she’s proving to be somewhat useful. And if we all want to get off of this stupid planet than we need to work together.

“Was there nothing left that we could collect?” I asked, letting my hand hover behind her back.

“No. I was hoping there might have been some pockets of water, but the damage created a funnel,” she said climbing down.

“Maybe we’ll have some luck in cargo,” I said, shrugging, “But it’s very unlikely.”

We both head to the cargo hold, meeting Johns and Paris on the way there. The oversize doors were halfway opened from when Zeke and Paris first entered. We climb into the dark corridor lined with cargo containers, and each one contain an access panel on them. Leading the way, Fry’s hand light swept past the numbered doors.

“Mine is here,” Paris said, going in front of her to unlock it. He pressed his palm against the ID pad and the door rolled up. An interior light blinked on, revealing the contents.

As Johns moved closer, he suddenly falters and grabbed onto a metal rung to steady himself. I bump into him when he stopped in front of me unexpectedly. I hold his arm making sure he wasn’t going to topple onto me.

“What’s wrong?” Fry asked, concerned. 

“Little swap-flu from the Conga system. Never shook it with all this cryosleep.”

“You should be resting then,” I said, eyeing his pale complexion. “All this running around probably isn’t helping you to get better.”

“I can’t. There are things that need to get done first,” he said, pushing away from the rung. “I’ll rest once this is all over.” 

“Alright, as long as you don’t push yourself to the point of passing out,” I said, shrugging and letting go.

Fry and I shared a glanced, picking up on the fact that he had been sweating and shivering at the same time. Hopefully, whatever he has isn’t contagious. We really don’t need another problem like that to deal with too. I also don’t understand what Johns is doing here with us. Isn’t keeping watch on a dangerous criminal more important than this? All we’re doing is just checking Paris’s container to see if he has something to drink besides alcohol. Anyone could’ve come with us to do this.

The same hand that I touch Johns with I wiped on my pants. And I watched as Paris opens his container to reveal Tiffany chairs stacked up high to the ceiling. There’s bronze eagle lecterns in a pile next to them, oriental umbrella stacked in the corner, Neo-Egyptian castings scattered around and pre-Chrislam chalices sticking out of a box. All of them were priceless treasures.

“I didn’t have time to check earlier, but it’s all here.” Paris cooed ecstatically.

Fry and I turned and saw why the lanky man seemed so happy. The content of his locker could have stocked a major museum.

“King Tut’s tomb,” Johns muttered, his face set in a greedy scowl.

Paris noticed. “Be surprised what these will fetch in the Taurus system,” He crowed. “Here, this Wooten here...”

Brushing pass him, Johns lifted one of the secretary as if weighing it.

“Easy, easy,” Paris said breathlessly. “Very rare.”

He pushed open the unlocked top shelf. Cubbyholed in the small wooden desk were dusty bottles of sherry, vintage port, Cognac, Glenfiddic, scotch, Bicardi 151 Rum, and overproof vodka.

“This is it? Booze? That’s what you have to drink?” Fry said, incredulous.

“To be fair you didn’t exactly specify,” I mumbled, staring at the bottles. “I was hoping he had something else to drink besides alcohol. But it doesn’t look like it.”

I don’t remember the last time I had a drink. I do have a bottle of water, but it won’t last long if everyone knows about it and wants to take a sip. Of course, I don’t have to tell them about it, but that could lead to distrust when they do find out. Plus, I’m not that selfish. The first ones to get water would be the children and the injured while the rest of us will just have to endure.

“200-year-old single malt scotch is to ‘booze’ as foir gras is to duck guts,” Paris said, haughtily.

“A toast to whatever he just said,” Johns announced, cracking a bottle open of Glenfiddich.

“Really?” I said, skeptical as he took a sip from it.

Johns shrugged, looking at Paris’s treasures more closely. And Paris didn’t move to stop him and instead he settle with glaring at him with a displeased frown on his face.

“I’ll need a receipt for that,” Paris said, and turned to Fry. “For all these. Even the two from earlier.”

“At least it wasn’t a complete waste,” I said, pursing my lips. “It did helped to save Owens’ life.”

“Top of my list,” Fry assured him, rolling her eyes when he turned away.

Johns passed the bottle and Fry accepted. She took a long drink and handed it to me. I lifted the bottle up, wondering if it was a good idea for me to have some. I am a bit curious to see if has any effect. I know a few sips won’t have me losing control if I do. I’m not a complete lightweight, at least from what I remember the last few times I had some.

However, what would happen if I did get drunk as I am now? This situation isn’t the place or time to test that out, but it’s something that I might want to think about some other day. So I take a gulp of it, feeling the aged Scotch whiskey burned a soothing warmth down my throat. It was surprising good, probably because it’s been aged for a lot longer than 18 years. If so, that would make it a ridiculously expensive drink that I’ve ever had in my entire life so far.

I sighed, feeling relaxed as warm pleasant tingles spread all over me. I passed it back to Fry and she took another long gulp from it.

Imam and one of his acolytes entered inside. I guessed the other two were left behind to watch over Owens. Already a bit tipsy, Fry lifted the bottle up in an offered. “I don’t suppose...?”

He gave her a regretful smile. “Unfortunately, it is not permitted, especially while on hajj,”

“Why?” Johns snapped. “There is no water. You understand that, don’t you?”

Imam smiled patiently, as if instructing an errant child. “All deserts have water somewhere. God will lead us there.”

“It’s not impossible,” I agreed, turning to Johns to explain. “It’s all about knowing where to look for it. If there’s a group of animals than that means water is somewhere nearby. If that doesn’t work, there’s also the plant life to consider. Though, that’s assuming if there’s any of that on this planet.”

“Fine. But what if there isn’t? What then?” Johns asked, bitterly.

“There are other ways to find or get water, but we haven’t really explored the planet to find out what may or may not work. Besides, there’s no point in dwelling on the ‘what ifs’ right now,” I replied. “We’ve got other things to worry about too, like getting those respirators done.”

“Okay, so while some of us work on those,” Fry said slowly, “the rest of us will search. We need water, weapons, food, in that order. Each of us will go through our lockers and bring whatever supplies we find to Nav Bay. We’ll meet there in exactly sixty tics.”

Once the message reached everyone we started working and searching around. We pillaged the cargo containers, pulling out anything that might qualify as a weapon or could be useful. Imam found a spare pair of spectacles in his own locker and immediately put them on. I found my little container with the radiation suit neatly packed inside. I stopped paying attention to what else everyone found, but with arms fulls of things everyone hauled it back to the main cabin and dumped it onto the floor. Johns rushed away with his pistol out, once we’ve noticed that Riddick was gone. 

While everyone was occupied, I checked over Owens to see how he was doing. He was sweating, but thankfully not shivering. His skin hasn’t gained a healthy colored yet, still pale and clammy. But that’s not surprising since he did lose a bit of blood. I used the back of my hand to see if his forehead or neck felt hotter than usual. It’s a bit hard for me to tell since I run hotter than most, but it’s not unbearably hot. So he hasn’t gotten a fever yet. Then I checked his pulse, pleased to find that it was steady and had gotten stronger. 

Next I carefully looked at his wound, and I’m relieved to see that it stopped bleeding. I grabbed the bag under the console, pulling out a clean rag and a bottle of alcohol. I soak the cloth and gently dabbed at the stitches. Owens hissed in pain as I clean around the wound and replace the bandages with clean ones when I was done.

His eyes fluttered open, glazed and unseeing at first. I grabbed the bottle of water from my bag and leaned over him. My movement caught his attention as I opened the bottle and his eyes focus on me. He tried to speak, but no words came out.

“Drink,” I said, carefully lifting his head and bringing the bottle to his dry lips. His mouth opened and he drank several swallows before I pulled it away. “I’m Tasha. What's your name?”

“Owens. Greg Owens.”

I nodded, relieved to see that he remembered his name. “Okay. Owens, how are you feeling?”

“It hurts,” he whispered, voice hoarse from shouting.

“Take this. It’ll help to lower your pain a bit,” I said, popping out some pain pills and placing them into his mouth. I give him a bit of water to swallow with them and he does so when he got enough.

I was going to ask him if he also remembered what happened, but that may not be a good idea. I certainly don’t want him to relapse into that state of incoherent panic from earlier. I’ll have to be careful by being more specific in my questions.

“You saved us. Thank you,” I said, giving him a smile. “But do you remember if you sent out a distress signal?”

He was silent, but his face expressed his struggled to remember the details.

“It’s okay if you don’t remember right now. I’m sure it’ll all come back to you when you’re feeling much better,” I said, putting away the bottle of water and giving him a soft smile in reassurance. 

“I...I think I did, but I’m not sure,” he said, shifting uncomfortably because of the hard floor. He gasped in pain when the movement also pulled at his stitched wound.

“I know the floor isn’t very comfortable, but please don’t try to move too much,” I said gathering some of the unused clothing and balling them up so that he could use it as a pillow. “Especially your arm.”

“Why does it hurt so much?” he asked, breathing heavily from the pain. 

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have anything stronger. We’ve lost majority of the medical supplies in the crash and I all I have is basic pain reliever.”

He sighed, breathing easier as the pain lower to tolerable levels.

“Do you know what planet we’re on? Or what system this is?” I asked, seeing that he wasn’t distracted by the pain anymore. Maybe knowing how close we are to our final destination might help to know if rescue will happen sooner than later.

He paused to think about it and his eyes brighten at remembering something. “Navigation said we were in the G system. I remember that because I was searching for a planet with breathable atmosphere in it.”

“G System? That’s interesting,” I said, surprised at his answered, “Thank you. That was very helpful to know.”

“Where am I?” he asked, his tired eyes not able to see much besides the ceiling and her.

“You’re still in the Main Cabin, in the Nav Bay. I know you have many questions, but they can wait. It’s important that you rest right now,” I said, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “You’re safe and you’ve got nothing to worry about besides getting enough sleep.”

He opened his mouth to ask more questions, but he paused, most likely realizing how tired he was. I leaned back, giving him space as he closed his eyes. It didn’t take him long to fall back to sleep, his breathing even and deep. I put away the rest of the things and moved away from the area he was in. I leaned against the wall, wondering why we’re in the G System.

Why would the Hunter-Gratzner take the back-route? It isn’t a shortcut at all. G System is remote and it’s usually avoided in shipping lanes due to its strange and complex celestial dynamics that makes it difficult to traverse. Just what reason did the Captain have to jeopardize everyone’s life by taking a risky route? The only ones that take it are those that are trying to hide something or don’t want to be found. Though, another possibility is to cut down on traveling time, but that’s not really worth such a risk.

But at this point, knowing why makes no difference now. We’re stuck here, on this god forsaken desert planet with a criminal on the loose. What else could go wrong? No, I better not say or think like that. I could jinx it. I sighed, also knowing that this would make our rescue difficult. A big shipping company like Hunter-Gratzner always keep track of their ships. So of course, they will investigate once they see that their ship hasn’t made its scheduled last stop. 

They’ll start by contacting all the ports to know what was the last known location anyone has seen of it and from there they calculate what other possible routes the ship could have taken. While they do so they look for any signs of ship debris, the transmitter or a distress signal, basically any evidence that could explain what happened to it. Even look at possible planets in the routes that it could’ve landed on. And they’ll look into the crew and passengers list to see if any of them pop up somewhere. If they do, they’ll be sending someone or contacting the local authorities in the area to detained them so that they can get answers.

I could have avoided all this if I had listened to my gut. But it was also warning me that I shouldn’t continue to stay on my home planet either. So I went with the option that didn’t make me feel as ill in dread as the other did. I just hope that they don’t look too deeply into my information because they will discover that the real Natasha Brennan is dead. That will most likely prompt another investigation on my identity, especially if they think I have something to do with their missing ship. Or if I’m lucky, they may deem me unimportant or not a priority. I don’t know...

“Are you okay?”

I turned, seeing Jack staring at me.

“Yeah, I’m just contemplating a few things,” I said. “How are you holding up?”

He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “As well as anyone stuck in a hot planet with no water or food, I guess.”

I pushed away from the wall, standing up straight and rolled my shoulder. I dusted off the dirt from my pants and ruffled Jack’s hair when I got closer to him. “I know this sucks, but it’s nothing that we can’t overcome. It will take a lot of work to do, even when sometimes it feels easier to just give into the despair.”

“Everyone keeps ignoring my questions.”

“When you get older, you will realize that adults are not perfect, even if we try to act like it. We don’t always know what to do or have all the answers to every question. Sometimes we do, but we might not be ready to admit it out loud because it would make it real.”

I bent down, looking at him eye to eye. “Rescue will come, but it will take a while to get here. Until then we’ve got to work together to make the best of our situation. It won’t be easy to do, but again life isn’t easy either.”

“So we’re not going to die here?”

“No,” I said, firmly.

“What about food and water?”

“We’re still checking the ship’s cargo for that. And we haven’t even explored the planet yet. Sure, it’s a desert planet, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t any life on it. Usually when there’s breathable air it also means that there’s some sort of plant life or animals on it too. ” 

“Oh,” Jack relaxed, looking a lot less anxious. “That makes senses. They can’t exist without water or a food source too. So we just have to find them and we’ll be okay too.”

I stood up, smiling back at him. “Exactly.”

“Thanks!”

“Any time,” I said ruffling his hair again. “Everyone should be finishing up by now. Let’s go see what they’ve found.”


	5. Sharp Blades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** I'm back with my laptop fixed. Apparently, the hard drive was failing and it needed to be replaced. I'm just glad that nothing was lost since it is a habit for me to backup and constantly keep my stuff updated (at least once a month). It took a while, because soon afterwards I was dealing with some stressful things. Such as getting my roof repair and a new rain gutter because a storm torn them off. It's extremely expensive and there's still some lingering issues about that. 
> 
> Anyway, I know that in the previous chapter I said Riddick would appear. But I didn't want to wait any longer, so I'm posting what I've got done so far. I'm still working on the rest of it and hope to have it done by the end of the month.

Jack and I reached the large section of the Nav Bay, where most of us were already done searching the ship for supplies. We gathered around the pile and begin taking inventory. We didn’t get far with it when Johns rushed in, surprising us with his panic state while carrying Riddick’s horse-bit. He informed us that he didn’t find him and seemed annoyed with how unalarmed we were at the news.

I disregard him and focused my attention back onto the pile, noticing that we have some food mixed in. I did not think we would find anything at all, but it was certainly better than nothing. Fry also uncovered an amply supply of nutrient tablets. It won’t substitute actual food, but it will keep our bodies healthy until we find some edible substance.

Zeke and Shazza have plenty of survival gear, including a pick-ax, digging tools, and hunting boomerangs. Johns only had a pistol, shotgun and a baton with him, as well as a knife. Imam showed off a ceremonial blade that was more showy than sharp. When they turned towards me to see what else I had, I just showed off my bottle of water and a rad suit, which I got strange looks at. I shrugged at them, putting the rad suit neatly away and observed what else Paris had to offer to the pile.

Along with the liquor supply and delicacies such as caviar, olives, and smoked oysters, Paris has a number of antique weapons. He straggled in with another armload of objects, and gingerly placed them on the floor.

“What the hell are these?” Johns muttered, nudging the brightly painted weapons with his toe. The curved blades looked like long steel fangs.

“Maratha crow-bill war picks from Northern India,” Paris whispered proudly. “Very rare.”

Zeke moved closer and picked up a long, carved wood tube. “And this?”

“Blowdart hunting stick from Papua New Guinea. Very, very rare,” Paris added, with a superior tone. “Since the tribe’s extinct.”

Zeke snorted and put the tube back, “Extinct cause they couldn’t hunt shit with these things be my guess.” He winked at Jack, who quickly muffled a laugh.

“Well, what’s the need for this war party hardware, anyway?” Paris shot back with annoyance. He glowered at Johns. “If your prisoner is gone, he’s gone. Why should he bother us?”

Johns locked onto Paris’ eyes. “Maybe to take what we got,” he suggested, voice low and tight. “Maybe to work our nerves. Or maybe he’ll come back just to skull-fuck us in our sleep.”

The intensity in his tone convinced most of them of the danger of the escaped prisoner. Paris’ face seemed to pucker up as if sucking a lemon, while the rest began to rummage through the weapons with renewed vigor. I eyed the ancient weapons with skepticism and didn’t move to join them. I got my own way to protect myself against Riddick if he decided to target me. But it would be strange if I didn’t grab at least something, even if it is just for show.

I picked up a spear, gripping it firmly to see if it’s durable. The wooden stick certainly looks old and feels like it’ll turn to dust if I squeezed it too tight. The blade at the top was actually a stone. It’s dull, but with the proper tools it could be sharp again. I suppose I could break the top part and turn it into a stone dagger-like weapon instead. However, it may not be worth the effort to do so. I could be remembering it wrong, but I think sharpening stone is harder to do than with an actual metal blade.

I look down at the pile again, picking up another weapon to see if it’s any better. This one is a single-edge bladed pole weapon. The pole is longer than the spear, about seven feet in length and the blade is also bigger with a spike on the other side of it.

Paris looked over at me as I studied it. 

“Ah, that’s a fifteenth century Germany glaive; a weapon that was carried by the bodyguards of the Prince-Electors of Saxony.”

“How do you know that?” I asked, glancing at him.

“It is marked with a cross within a rough circle,” he said pointing at the faded engraved part of the blade. “It’s not that common, but sometimes bladesmiths and armourers tend to mark their works. Other times clientele may have them engraved or etched a family crest onto it. It certainly makes identifying these rare and priceless antiques easier.”

“I see,” I said, flipping it over to the spike part. “What was this side used for?”

“That was used to grab and hook an opponent, often to pull him down off a horse.”

I tested the blade, gently sliding my finger on the edge of it. It’s worn-down.

“That isn’t surprising. Pole arms lost their importance on the field, and from the mid-16th century, they were reserved for use in sporting contests and by princely bodyguards for ceremony and parade.”

“So it’s mostly for decoration,” I said, frowning. “The blade is too dull to even cut anything, unless I used it as a blunt instrument.”

“Don’t they say that dull knives are more dangerous than sharp ones?” Jack asked, looking up from playing with a bow-dart stick.

“That’s usually about kitchen knives,” Zeke quipped. “But I suppose it can be applied to anything pointy.”

“It does. It refers to how a dull knife requires more pressure while slicing and the object being cut may unexpectedly give way, which can result in the knife slipping either onto the cutting board or worse, into you,” I said, putting the spear back into the pile and keeping the glaive. “With that extra force you’ll end up with a much deeper cut than a sharp blade would’ve given you.”

“And it’ll give you a really wicked scar,” Zeke added, testing the weight of an axed weapon with a few swings. 

“Why though?” Jack asked, wiping his dusty hand on his pants.

“Dull blades are jagged and essentially tear your flesh. While a sharp knife requires less force in order to cut things, so it slides through smoothly and cleanly. And any wounds from it will generally heal faster and neatly,” I said eyeing the spike part of the weapon. It seems a bit more sharper than the actual blade when I took a closer look.

“But it bleeds longer,” Zeke added, looking at Jack. “It’s not as easy for clean cuts to clot, which is why they bleed so much. Soon enough you’re gonna be sprouting some facial hairs and figured that one out yourself.”

“Oh, right, that makes sense,” Jack said, rubbing his chin and probably imaging himself with a beard.

I wiped some of the dust off of the weapon and onto my pants. I will need to find something to sharpen it with. A whetstone and some sort of oil or lubricant to reduce heat from the friction that is created when sharpening the blade. I could use water, but I don’t want to waste it on that. Either way, there has to be at least one of those things on this ship. I’m just not completely sure where I might find it. I could ask Fry, but I doubt that it’s something that a second class pilot would know. Owens won’t know either and even if he did I’m not going to be bothering him in his condition. 

“I’m going to look around for something to fix this glaive up a bit,” I announced, straightening up and taking a couple of steps away from the group.

“What about Owens?” Fry asked, turning away from whatever Shazza and Johns were discussing. 

“I won’t go that far or take too long,” I said, looking at her. “I already checked his wound and it’s doing okay. I was also able to get him to drink some water before he went back to sleep.”

“It’s not a good idea to be wondering off on your own right now,” Johns voiced, straighten up and placing a hand on his pistol.

It’s interesting that he didn’t direct that to statement to everyone, mainly at the kids that seem to make it a habit of going off on their own. I’m sure the only reason he singled me out is because he wanted to add, ‘especially for a woman’ at the end of his sentence. It’s less about being concern for my well being and probably more of an excuse to accompany me as I search.

“I’m tougher than I look. Besides, it’s better that I go now than later,” I replied, confidently. “While Riddick is still preoccupied with putting distance between you and him. And if he does come back that would mean there’s really nothing out there.”

“Are you sure?” Shazza asked, concerned.

“Yes. I’ll still be within shouting distance,” I said, using the glaive like a walking stick as I walked away from the group.

Ships nowadays don't use oil or coal for fuel. They instead use power-cells and liquid gasses to run everything. Though some older ships’ main engines burn liquid hydrogen. But I’m more interesting in locating the container of lubrication, which is used for some of the machines on board, especially those with bearings. The use of it makes sure that the machine runs smoothly and that it reduces friction so that it won’t wear out so quickly. A commercial ship like this should have at least one type, maybe both solid and liquid lubrication. Either one will work for what I have in mind. 

I climbed over loose metal paneling, dodged broken wires and carefully stepped pass broken glass. Of all the places to look, I’m more likely to find what I want somewhere towards the back of the ship. As I squeezed pass a broken beam, I could feel a moving heat following behind me. It wasn’t small, so it wasn’t one of the children. I walked around a warped metal panel that stuck out from the wall and looked back. I spotted Johns ducking his head from the loose wires hanging above. His eyes met mine when he straighten up.

“What are you looking for anyway?” he asked as he came closer.

I frowned at him. I was hoping to be left alone, but Johns doesn’t seem like someone who would be easily discourage or listen to others. I lifted the glaive up in his direction. 

“I need a few things in order to sharpen this,” I said as I continued on with my search.

“You’re gonna find it here?”

“Yes.”

I found a utility locker still bolted to the wall at the end of the cabin. I walked over it, pulling it opened and scanning the contents inside. I placed the glaive besides the door as I shuffled through the small bins for a lubricate. There’s a lot of junk mixed in with tools. The lack of organization of it is certainly annoying. If I don’t find it soon I will have to tolerate Johns presence even longer than I would’ve liked.

He shuffled besides me and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. “So, how does someone like you know so much?”

“Someone like me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

His eyes roam over my body before meeting my eyes. “You don’t look like someone who should be taking a ship like this to get to places.”

“Looks can be deceiving. Besides, most would be saying that about Shazza and not me,” I said, pushing useless tools to the side of the cabinet.

“She’s not the one that has caught my attention,” he replied, leaning closer.

“I don’t know why,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “I’m nothing special.”

“Really? You’re beautiful and pretty smart too. It’s the way you talk and explain things. I find that interesting because most folks can’t afford to get that kind of education nowadays.” 

I shrugged, “So? Everyone is an expert at something. I just happen to be an overachiever that also likes to read a lot too. But that still doesn’t make me anything special.” 

I spotted a roll of duck tape and slipped it into my bag. It’s very useful. I consider it to be one of the greatest inventions created. Now, if only someone invented something that could get pesky people like Johns to leave me alone. I would be eternally grateful. He’s obviously trying to fish for information about me. I don’t know if it’s because he’s suspicious about something or just nosy.

“Than what’s your expertise?”

“Oh, that’s right. You weren’t there when I told the others,” I said, looking at him. “It’s engineering.”

“Damn,” he stated impressed. “And the medical stuff?”

“It was a requirement,” I said, sighing as I fiddled with my wristband and checked the radiation levels on it. I’m still safe to be around.  

“That’s a lot of learning to do,” he said, leaning back now that he got something from me. “So why’re you here of all places with an education like that?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” I said, raising my eyebrow. “But I’m looking for work.”

“Huh, I guess I was almost right. I figured you were here for work related reasons,” he said, titling his head.

I laughed, rolling my eyes. “If I was I would’ve taken a more comfortable flight out.”

I focused my attention back to locating a lubricate oil. I haven’t search the bottom row of the locker yet, so I crouched down looking for it. I spotted a container in the back and pulled it out. I’m relieved to see that the label is for a solid lubricate. However, it’s beginning to melt. I may not be able to feel the heat, but I’ve been noticing that everyone else is sweating more. The ship isn’t too bad so far, but it’s only a matter of time that it’ll become unbearable to stay inside it. 

The temperature system most likely got damaged or malfunction in the crash, otherwise it would have continued to work. Unless the computer shut itself off to save energy or redirect it to life-support, engines and heat shielding once it detected holes in the hull. I’m not sure which, but at this point it doesn’t matter because the damage is extensive.

“Did you find it?” Johns asked, wondering why I stopped looking.

“..oh, right,” I mumbled, stashing the container into my bag. 

I take one last look at the rest of the rows for anything useful. I throw an empty cigarette box aside, spotting a bar of sharpen stone behind it. I wasn’t expecting it, but I’m relieved to see it as it’ll make things so much easier on me. I now have everything to make the glaive into a proper weapon. I grabbed that too and put it away in my bag.

“I’ve got everything I need,” I said, standing back up and grabbing the glaive after I closed the locker.

Johns straighten up and rolled his shoulders as he did so. We headed back to the main cabin to the Nav Bay section. The others greeted us and I found a spot nearby Owens to work at. Jack moved closer, interested to see how sharpening a blade is done. I found a flat surface to placed the sharpening stone down and the half-melted solid bar of lubricate oil.

I first tried to clean the blade as best I can with a dirty rag, before attempting to sharpen it. Once done I checked the stone, to see what type it is because I do know that some are designed to be used wet or dry, but are destroyed when oiled. However, the one I found is specifically designed for oil, and will worked with the lubricate I have.

I flipped the stone to the coarsest side and apply a few drops of the lubricate directly to it. Then I rest the blade’s edge of the glaive at an angle and carefully maintain the position as I slide it across the stone from top to bottom. I do that a couple of times before repeating the process on the other side of the blade. I add a bit more lubricate oil and keep at it until the blade is sharpen. Than I flipped the stone onto the finer side to make the edge smoother and extra sharp.

Once both sides have been worked on I move on to the next phrase which is testing it. I press the blade’s edge against my skin and carefully drag it across my arm. I did a small patch 

“Wait, what are you doing?” Jack asked, confused.

“Testing it. Usually most people use a piece of paper to see if the blade will cut it cleanly without much force. Fruits, vegetables and plant leaves could work too. But we don’t have any of that here, so the next best thing is to see how well it will shave the hair off my arm,” I said, pleased to see that it actually worked.

Jack motion for my arm so that he could see it for himself. I lifted it up in his direction and he brush the hairless area with his fingers. “Smooth, but what if it didn’t work?”

“Then I go back to sharpening it again, and I’ll keep testing it until I’m satisfied with it’s sharpness,” I said, working on the spike part of the weapon. “However, not all blades can be sharpen with the same angle.”

“How would I know which angle is right?”

“As a general rule, it’s best to follow the existing grind and edge angle of the blade. Something like this though,” I said, stopping my work on the glaive and showing Jack the edge and heel of it. “I had to eyeball it. But there’s actually an accurate method to do it. I just didn’t use it because there’s no sharpies around.”

“How would a sharpie help?” Jack questioned, leaning back and holding his legs to his chest. 

“With a sharpie I would’ve colored the edge of the blade. Then use a whetstone or sharpening stone to stroke it across. If your angle is too high, the ink will be removed only at the very tip of the bevel. If your angle is too low, none of the ink will be removed. You want to angle it so you are thinning the ink, but not removing it all,” I said, working on the rest of the spike part of the glaive. “It also helps you to avoid over-sharpening which can reduce your blade’s life.”

“That can happen?”

“Yes. It thins the edge to the point that the blade becomes far less durable and can be permanently damaged,” I said picking up a dirty rag. I pour a little bit of the lubricate oil to clean whatever dust and grit still cling to the blade. When I finished polishing the glaive, it looked so much better.

“If you don’t mind me butting in,” Zeke said, walking over to us both. “The 20 degree angle will work well for most knives. Something like, hmm, a machete would need to be about 30-35 degrees angle to be sharpen properly.”

Jack eyed him skeptical and Zeke laughed. “I may not have formal education, but in the Outback you do pick up plenty of survival skills.”

Zeke turned his attention onto me, pointing at the whetstone and lucubrate oil. “You don’t mind if I borrow that for a bit?”

“Help yourself,” I said, straightening up. “I don’t need it anymore.”

Shazza came over, carrying two axes to sharpen and the breather units to work on. 

“Where everyone else go?” Jack asked, noticing that it was just us still inside the ship.

“Johns went off to patrol for Riddick,” Shazza said, passing the axes to Zeke and sitting besides Jack. “And the others wondered off somewhere outside. They were talking about exploring the area.”

“It won’t do them any good if they go now,” Zeke said, using a dirty rag over to clean the axes up before he started on them. “The breathers ain’t done yet.”

“Speaking of which, how’s that coming along?” I asked, looking Owens over and checking his pulse. I would’ve also checked his temperature, but I run hot and I wouldn’t be able to tell for sure if he’s got a high fever or not. It’s not unheard of for people to have a low-grade fever or higher than normaltemperature after surgery or treatment of an deep wound. Those can be easily treated with ibuprofen or acetaminophen, and sometimes nothing at all. 

However, it’ll a problem if it the fever is accompanied by symptoms such as nausea, vomiting, an unexplained increase in pain, disorientation, drainage or angry redness around the injure. That would mean he has an infection and I won’t be able to do anything about it without antibiotics.

“Not too bad,” Zeke said, carefully guiding the blade’s edge of the axe onto the oiled whetstone. “Only a few left to do.”

“Here, luv,” Shazza beckoned to Jack. “You give it a try.”

She helped him strap the breather over his nose and chin. Jack sucked on the mouthpiece. A few seconds later he nodded happily. It worked.

“You keep that one,” she told him. 

“How’s he doing anyway?” Zeke asked, pausing to take a look at Owens.

“Still asleep and he hasn’t gotten worst which is good,” I sighed. “But that could change later on. If that happens I won’t be much help.”

“You’re doing the best with what you got,” Zeke stated firmly. “So don’t be too hard on yourself. And if anyone gives you trouble for it I’ll have words with them.”

“Thanks you,” I said smiling. “Can you keep an eye on Owens for me?”

“Of course,” Shazza said, working on another breather unit. 

“What you’re gonna do?” Jack asked, playing with a strap for an unfinished breather.

“I’m going to see what the others are up to.”


	6. Boneyard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** This is the other half of the previous chapter and Riddick does make an appearance in this. However, it may not be what you all hoped for. I did say this gonna be a slow-building, after all, this is just the calm before the storm.

I went outside, lifting my forearm to shield my eyes from the twin blazing sunlight. When my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I made out Johns’ form standing atop of the crashed nose of the ship. He was scanning the area with a scope for any signs of Riddick.

I found Imam and his little group nearby. They switched to their traditional desert robes, which were well suited for the terrain. I walked up to Imam, smiling at one of the children that gave me a shy wave hello before running off. Another person was walking behind me, and I turned to see it was Fry. She caught up to me and we reached Imam at the same time.

“Earlier we were discussing what we’re going to do next,” Fry said, crossing her arms. “Imam plans to have a small group of us go explore the region for water. He wanted to do that as soon as possible, but I suggested we wait until the suns are closer to setting. It should be less burning hot by then.”

“Good idea. It’ll also give Shazza plenty of time to finish working on the respirators,” I mentioned, pushing my hair behind my ears. “Who’s going?” 

“My charges and I,” Imam answered, fixing the sleeves. “You’re welcome to join us.“

“I’ll be going too,” Fry added. “Oh, and Johns.”

“Okay, count me in,” I said, looking back to the ship and up at the sky. “Any idea how long we’ll be waiting?”

Fry shrugged, “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Then it’s best we use this time to complete other tasks,” Imam said, motioning to the ship. “There’s still plenty that needs to be done.”

Fry nodded, looking back at the ship. “They need to be buried.”

“I will find a spot for them,” he said solemnly. “As well as something to mark their graves with.”

“Thank you,” she said, leaving.

“What will you be doing?” he asked, looking at me.

“Watching over Owens,” I answered. “Maybe help with the respirators too.”

“How is he?”

“Alive and fine for now,” I said, shrugging helplessly. “I wish I could do more, but there’s not much else I can do for him.”

“You helped him when the others could not,” he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “If he’s to survive, that will be up to him and Allah. I’m sure whatever happens he’ll be extremely grateful that your paths have crossed. I know I am.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said politely, turning away. 

He nodded with a kind smile and dropped his hand from my shoulder. “If you ever need to talk or someone to listen, please don't hesitate to come to me.”

I nodded, smiling back at him before wondering around. I wanted a few minutes to myself before going back to the ship. I breath deeply and exhale through my mouth. I felt a bit more relaxed and closed my eyes. It took a bit of focusing to pin point where everyone was and Riddick definitely wasn’t in the area. That put me at ease since he’s an unknown factor and I don’t want to have any confrontation with him anytime soon.

I paid attention to Fry, seeing that she started to keep herself busy. She was preparing the rest of her crews’ body for burial. Even the passengers that didn’t make it. Once Zeke was done sharpening the axes and heard what she was doing he joined her. They moved all bodies outside with a tarp pitch up to shield them from the suns’ rays. The bodies were already decomposing, which wasn’t surprising in such a climate. It’s also a health hazard for us if we kept them in the ship any longer.

While they were doing that I went backed to the ship to keep watch over Owens. I checked his wound for any signs of bleeding or infection. Once in a while he would open his eyes and fall quickly back to sleep. There wasn’t much for me to do besides keep Shazza accompany and help her with the rest of the respirators. With the both of us working on it, it didn’t take long to finish. She collected them all and left the ship to hand them out to everyone who didn’t get one earlier. Jack got bored and left to see what everyone else was doing.

It didn’t seem like much time had passed, but soon enough Fry came into the cabin. “We’re heading out.”

I nodded, wiping some of the sweat off Owen’s forehead.

“How is he?” she asked, staring at him. “Has he woken up or said anything?”

“For now, he’s okay,” I responded, leaning back. “He did wake up, but he was only lucid for a few minutes.”

Fry looked conflicted and relieved at the same time. She’s most likely wondering if Owens told me what she was going to do. She many not realized it herself, but she was holding her breath when I answered, fearing the worst.

“It was just enough to tell me that he’s not completely sure if he sent out a distress signal. However, he confirmed that we’re in the G system.”

Fry released her breath, not expecting to hear that. “Wh-what? G system? That wasn’t the planned route.”

“Yeah, I was surprised to hear that too,” I said, standing up. “Rescue is gonna take longer to reach us.”

I looked back at Owens and to her, wondering if I should tell her that I know. We’re alone, and this would be the perfect opportunely to do so. It won’t change anything, but at least she would be aware that I know and can’t just brush it off like it never happened.

I don’t hate her because I understand. It’s not a situation that anyone would want to find themselves in. Everyone has survival instincts, but not all of them are able to override their self-preservation. It also reminded me of the trolley dilemma. You either save one, which kills everyone or save everyone, but it kills the one. Only difference was that Fry was the one person in the position to either save herself or doom everyone. If it wasn’t for Owens’ quick thinking the rest of us wouldn’t be here. Of course, I’m a bit bias when it comes to my life being in danger. Maybe I should let her know that I know. That way she won’t be so quick to make the same decision next time.

“By the way, I know.”

She pulled back, surprised that I bluntly said it. “Wha-”

“About what you did, well, what you were gonna do if it wasn’t for Owens,” I clarified.

She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again.

“There’s nothing for you to say. Just that I get it,” I said, patting the dust off me. “If you’re worried that I’m gonna tell the others, I don’t plan to. It’s done with and we got much more important things to focus on.”

She sighed in relief, like some of the weight on her shoulders was lifted off. 

“I’m...it’s... Owens is the real hero,” Fry began, struggling to find the right words to convey her thoughts. “I know that there’s no amount of sorry I can say that will make it right. But I also don’t feel like I have anything to apologize for. It’s what I thought was right..."

“Stop,” I interrupted, holding my hand up. “You don’t have to explain anything. I get it, but that doesn’t mean we’re gonna be best of friends. You can’t fault me for being a bit bias, but I also can’t fault you for valuing your life too. Just...don’t be quick to make the same decision. At least, not without making sure that you’re absolutely sure that there’s no other way.”

Fry nodded, “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try.”

“I know,” I said, frowning. “Hopefully, it isn’t put to the test anytime soon.”

“Do you think the others?” Fry trailed off, biting her lip.

“Will be as understanding as me?” I finished as I looked at her. “I don’t know, but they probably won’t be at first. If you do decide to tell them, maybe wait until we’re out of this place. Or don’t, it’s your decision.”

“I don’t know,” she sighed, looking out into the hole in the ship’s wall. “There's gonna be some consequences either way.”

I grabbed my glaive. “There always is, but that doesn’t matter at the moment. We all need to work together to survive the mess we’re in right now. I don’t know if there’s ever gonna be a right time for you to tell them or not. But that’s not why you came here, is it?”

“Yeah,” she said, “It’s time to head out.” 

Fry and I joined Imam, who was circled in a shady spot near the entrance to the ship. “Imam, we should go now,” she advised, pointing to the sky. “Before nightfall, but while the air is cool and we have enough sunlight to see.”

He peered up through his spectacles and nodded.

“What? You’re going off, too, then?” Zeke asked, popping his head through the torn metal hull. “Bloody dangerous with that psycho about.”

“We’ve got to find water,” she reminded him brusquely. “And we won’t be gone for long.”

“Can you find someone to watch over Owens for me?” I asked, standing besides Fry and leaning over into his sight.

“You too?” Zeke sighed, wiping the sweat with his forearm. “Yeah, that can be done. Be careful though.”

Fry gestured at the compartment where the bodies were stored. “Do me a favor and get them buried?”

Shazza floated up behind Zeke, her features solemn. “Of course we will. We were planning to do that anyway.”

“Imam! Imam!” one of the boys yelled, waving at him to come over. “Look!”

When we got closer I realized it was Hassan that yelled. He was pointing at something behind the ship. We rushed to his side, rounding the ship to see a blue star flaring into view. It was rising as the other suns were setting. We gaped at the sun shimmering on the horizon like a brilliant blue sapphire.

“Bloody hell...” Shazza muttered.

Jack stood wide-eyed at the sky. “Three suns?”

Zeke glanced at Fry. “So much for your nightfall.”

“So much for my cocktail hour,” Paris said sourly.

Imam remained optimistic. “We take this to be a good sign,” he declared. “A path; a direction from Allah.” He noticed Zeke’s incredulous squint and smiled. “Blue sun, blue water.”

Zeke shook his head. “Ever wonder why I’m an atheist?”

Johns swung down from the top of the ship and dropped besides us. “I take it as a bad sign. That’s Riddick’s direction.”

Fry folded her arms. “I thought you found his restraints over there, toward sunset.”

Johns snorted as if it were obvious. “Which means he went toward sunrise.” Reluctantly he unstrapped his pistol and handed it to Zeke. “One shot if you spot him.”

Paris wasn’t amused. “And if Mr. Riddick happens to spot us?”

“There will be no shots,” Johns assured.

Zeke’s smile faded and he scanned the sunrise horizon, as if the hard blue glared would reveal where Riddick lay in wait.

We parted ways with the others and began trekking. The Chrislams waft incense pots and chanted from the Koran as we marched towards the rising blue sun. Johns trailed close behind, providing shotgun escort. I was next in line, using the glaive as a walking stick to help with my footing in the sand. Fry bought up the rear, carrying one of Paris’ war-picks on her shoulder like a scythe. 

We were just a half-hour from the ship and the others were already thirsty and feeling the heat. 

“Quiet,” Johns whispered abruptly. “Quiet!”

They fell silent. We all stopped and looked at Johns. He stood still, head cocked as if listening to something. Suddenly he whirled, shotgun raised. At that moment a string of small rocks rattled slowly down the hillside. Fry glanced at me and then at the others. We all shared the same thought, was Riddick stalking us?

I concentrated on the area with the rocks, feeling a presence move away from the spot with quiet swiftness. it felt human, with a higher body temperature than most people I’ve come across. It’s probably Riddick, unless he’s not the only human out there. Without a word Johns drifted up the hill to investigate. 

Already sun-battered by the glaring heat, Fry approached Imam. 

“Do you have a cloth I can use to wrap my head?”

The man proffered a traditionally patterned scarf, and helped her drape it correctly, shading her eyes. “Now you are a proper Muslim woman,” he said with a reassuring smile.

They turned to me, wondering if I wanted one too. 

I shook my head. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Fry asked, as she took a deep breath through her respirator. 

“Yes,” I said. “It doesn’t bother me as much because I’m use to it.”

Truthfully, it’s because I’m not actually effected by the heat or the sun’s ray. It’s not going to harm me, unlike Fry’s fair complexion. She’ll burn to a crisp if she continued on without covering her skin. Fry nodded and took a better look around without squinting as much as she was earlier. “So quiet,” she said, almost to herself. “You get used to the sounds of the ship, then...”

Imam blinked at her. “You know who Muhammad was?”

Fry shrugged. “Some prophet guy?”

“Some prophet guy...” Imam repeated, as if she had said something profound. “And a city man. But he had travel to the desert -- where there was quiet -- to hear the words of God.”

“You were on a pilgrimage to New Mecca?” she asked, trying to be friendly.

He nodded solemnly. “Chrislam teaches that once in every lifetime should there be a great hajj -- a great pilgrimage. To know Allah, better, yes, but to know yourself as well.”

“That’s one trip I probably shouldn’t take,” she thought out loud, with a frown on her face.

Imam smiled and adjusted the scarf securely around her neck. “We’re all on the same hajj now.”

While Fry and Imam were talking I glanced up at Johns, who was doggedly scouring the hillside for tracks. He swept the area, section by section, but stopped after spotting something in the distance. He took the scope from his belt and lifted it to his eye. I hiked up the hillside, wanting to see what caught his eye.

Fry turned to see where I was going and looked at Johns.

“What is it?” she asked, following behind me. 

“I don’t think it’s Riddick. He must have found something else,” I said, reaching the top.

“Tell me it’s not a mirage,” Johns said, handing me the scope since I was closer. “It looks like trees to me.”

I looked and beyond the distant rise is a strange structure that look like branches of what could possibly be of trees. 

“I see it too,” I said, passing the scope to Fry. “It’s hard to tell from this distance, but whatever it is, it’s certainly worth a look.”

“Trees?” Fry questioned, bringing the scope to her eye. “Oh, they might be.”

The news pumped fresh energy into the scouting party. 

Johns took the lead and as we got closer, the young pilgrims broke into an exited run, anticipating an oasis. But Fry and I hanged back, taking a better look at the trees.

“Aren’t trees suppose to move in the wind?” I asked, squinting at the structures. “It’s hot and humid, but there’s still a bit of a breeze going on.”

“That’s true. But now that we’re getting closer, it’s not as green as I thought,” she said, worried. “Instead of trees, it could be cactus. Like those tall tree-like ones?”

“Maybe. We won’t know for sure until we actually reach it.”

The younger ones scrambled over the rise and were now standing silently at the sight before them. When we caught up to them, we saw why. The trees were actually bones of a titanic skeleton. The only reason we mistook it for trees was because the first one in sight was tinted green by lichen. Beyond it lay an immense sea of bleached animal bones.

The skeletons were huge, with mammoth, hollow skulls the size of cave dwellings. Fry and the others shuffled slowly into the vast boneyard, unnerved by the eerie wailing carried by the wind. Like discordant echoes of long-lost souls.

“Is this whole planet dead?” Fry muttered, worried.

As if in answer, one of the pilgrims said something in Arabic.

“He asks what could have killed so many great beasts,” Imam explained, voiced hushed. 

We continued farther, pausing before a perfectly preserved skeleton that seemed part crocodile, part camel--and all predator.

“Some communal graveyard perhaps, like the elephants of Earth,” Imam suggested.

No one answered. Each of us was preoccupied by the towering bones. Fry touched one the bones, a rib of some sort. Deep cut marks were etched along it, almost as if the bone had been hacked by a sword. I stepped besides her, studying the marks and watching as her hand trailed it. I noticed that many of the bones surrounding us had the same marks on them too. I don’t think these large creatures die of natural causes; something else had got to them.

“Graveyard? Or killing field?” Fry wondered out loud.

“My guess,” I whispered. “It’s the latter.”

Something poked out from within one of the deeper punctures. I reached up and plucked it out. It was a needle-like tooth, about the size of my fingers. It was still razor sharp as I dragged it across the bone. It wasn’t as deep as the others cuts, but it matched the smaller marks. 

Fry frowned, looking at the tooth. “You think they were killed by the same animal that gnawed on them?” 

“It seems like it,” I said, passing the tooth over for her to examine better. “It was probably more than one that did all this. A lot more from the looks of it.”

Most predators prefer fresh meat, and will often pass up a carcass more than a few days old. After all, with this much heat and sunlight the meat would spoil quickly. Any animals on this planet probably adapted and figured that out over time. So it’s likely that whatever creatures are on this planet didn’t attack for the fun of it or to defend their territory, but instead they intended to feast. Either there were a lot of them that needed to feed or there were only a few with very large appetites.

I glanced around, wondering where these creatures could be hiding. That’s if they’re still around and haven’t gone extinct themselves. I may need to take a closer look at the skeletons around to see if one of them doesn’t belong. It could give me some answers as to what kind of creature this tooth belongs to.

“Do you think whatever this comes from is still around?” she asked, giving me the tooth back. 

“I hope not,” I answered, pocketing the tooth for Jack. He may find it cool and want to keep it as a souvenir. “But we can’t rule it out. We haven’t seen any other type of skeletons around besides these.”

“That’s true,” she said, nudging a smaller piece of bone away with her foot. “I don’t know if it’s just me, but something about this place...” 

Johns came behind Fry. “Long time ago. Whatever happened,” he interrupted, as if that solved everything.

Fry glanced up in annoyance. But before she could respond, one of the young ones laughed. The sound oddly out of place. Spurred by curiosity, and a sudden aversion to Johns, Fry hurried off to see what was so funny. I frowned at her back, not wanting to be left alone with him. While his focus wasn’t on me and I left before he noticed I was still there. 

I walked around, finding a smaller skull that was probably an adolescent of these colossal creatures. I carefully climbed on top of it, hoping the view up there would provide some answers. There were more of those deep cuts on the skull and the bones nearby had them too. I still couldn’t see much, so I climbed onto the bigger skull next to it. 

The way these creatures were position, the bigger ones were trying to shield their young. They were hunched together, putting the smallest of the pack in the middle and standing over them. Interesting, does that mean they were attacked by aerial predators? Otherwise, there would be no need to place themselves in such a way if the attack only came from the sides.

I peered up at the bright and cloudless yellow sky. I haven’t seen or felt anything up there since we got here. Either these other creatures are long gone by now, or they’re hiding somewhere else on this planet. Maybe on the other side of the planet? Or possibly underground? But why would aerial predators nest in the ground? There’s plenty of tall rocky walls and cliffs over there in the distance that could work well for nests. Maybe even some caves there too? But why haven’t they made any appearances if they’re still around? Even predators can be curious and would’ve investigated the disturbance we made in crash landing here. I don’t know, but something about this feels off and that bothers me. 

I closed my eyes, trying to sense the ground beneath. There’s a lot of volcanic activity down there. If something else is down there I wouldn’t be able to differentiate it. It blends altogether like a restless molten ocean. I don’t know what else it could be. The creatures? No. It can’t be as there would need to be a ridiculous amount of them to feel anything like that. I sighed, shaking my head at the thought. 

I spotted something different in one the colossal skeleton’s mouth. Its teeth clench tight on it and it was large, but rather small against the other skeletons. I shuffled closer to peer at it. There are delicate little bones on each side of it and at the end of it as well, which I think were once wings and a long tail. Thick sharp claws are on its feet. Actually, the placement of those two limbs looks more like arms instead of legs. 

Its skull is shaped strangely like a cross, the sides being longer than the vertical parts. With my abnormal strength I detached the skull and dragged it up to inspect it closer. The skull is rough, solid, and it has no eyes. Most eyeless or blind creatures use echolocation to travel and find prey. Or it might have some sort of complex sensor organs to be able to ‘see’ in a way. That’s usually because such creatures live somewhere dark or underground. Some even have a sensitivity to light because of it. That’s makes the possibility of them hiding underground a bit more concrete if they have no use for actual eyes. 

I moved the skull around, noticing it also doesn’t have a nasal cavity. So does that mean it has no sense of smell at all or does it do it in a different way? Such as through its tongue or touch? Unfortunately, I can’t answer some of these questions just by looking at its skeleton alone, but it certainly has helped a lot. I pried opened its jaw and saw the familiar long needle-shaped teeth lining its mouth. Yikes, I certainly don’t want to get up close and personal with a real one if it’s still around. 

I dropped the skull since there was nothing else I could learn from it. I glanced around, wondering where everyone could have gone to. I climbed to the other end of the skeleton and focused on the heat-energy of the others. That’s odd. I’m sensing seven people, not six. Who’s the extra? From the shape of it, it certainly doesn’t feel like it’s an animal.

The group of four clustered together is probably Imam and his acolytes. And the two outside of the group might be Fry and Johns, but someone is practically on top them. Could it be Riddick? Or did one of the others from the ship joined us? I slid off the skeleton, quietly tracking down where the extra heat came from. I spotted the group through the rib of a colossal skeleton from the other side.

The youngest, Ali sneaked off into a one of the skulls nearby. It happened to be the very same one that I felt the extra heat hiding in.

“Ali!”

I flinched, startled by the cry. 

Suleiman was looking for him. As he spun slowly in search of Ali, Imam stood unperturbed, as if he’d seen this before.

“Harrh!”

Ali popped out of the darkened skull like a laughing ghost. Then he disappeared again. Suleiman started after him, but Imam stopped him with a stern look. As Imam moved towards the skull, Ali scrambled outside.

“Get out, dammit!” John’s gruff voice shouted after him. “This ain’t no playground.”

Shaking his head, Imam gave Ali a gentle push toward his fellow pilgrims. I frowned, staring in Johns direction. Ali is just a child. He has no right to treat the boy that way--or anybody else for that matter like that. I’m not the only one to think that because Fry called him out on it.

“At ease, Johns!” Fry said sharply. “Nobody put you in charge.”

“Maybe you better come in here,” Johns drawled.

It sounded more like a challenge than a suggestion. Fry cautiously moved inside the hollowed skull. Without any of them knowing I walked closer to their spot. I crouched, and I placed my hand on the skull, sensing three people inside it. Only a two of them I know of.

That third one has to be Riddick. I felt him before, but I wasn’t too sure. He does run hotter than everyone else, and his energy is distinctive now that I’m this close to him. It’s wild, like a caged predator ready to pounce on its prey at any moment. But what am I to do? Is he just hiding or waiting for the right moment to strike? I can’t warn them because that would force him to take action. He’s right there, watching them. I’m surprised that they haven’t looked up, but I suppose that’s the reason he picked that spot. Hardly anyone ever does. 

I should leave it alone because I don’t see anyone winning if we have a confrontation right here. I take my hand off the skull, looking for a crack or a hole to peek through. There’s nothing, but the eye socket. I can’t use that without being very obvious. However, I can still hear them clearly and sense their positions. I pressed my ear against the skull and closed my eyes. For some reason I sense Johns is kneeling on the ground. 

“Look at this,” he muttered.

I felt Fry crouched besides him. Johns points at something. I wonder what it is. Footprints? Blood? A burrow? Whatever it is, it seems to be on the ground.

“Big Evil is around here somewhere,” he muttered. “I can feel it.” 

Oh, well that’s awkward. I can feel Riddick’s form tense as Johns stood up. I heard him hefted his shotgun. Slowly he inspected the inner wall of the huge, hollow skull, probing each shadowy nook and cranny with his weapon. Satisfied, he backed out toward the exit and Fry followed. 

They left, probably looking for other signs of Riddick outside or around the skull. I waited to see, well, sense what Riddick would do next. He shifted in his hiding spot and moved into another position, which was on the other side of the skull. It was also closer to the exit. I pulled back, glazing at the eye socket. While Riddick was focused on Fry and Johns I used that opportunity to peeked inside. 

As soon as my eyes adjusted to the shade inside the skull, I spot a circle of sharp bone chips. The chips were about the size of a fingertip. They seemed to be freshly cut somehow, one side whiter than the other. It doesn’t look like it happened naturally. That must have been what Johns was looking at. He said it was Riddick’s doing. Did he make something out of one of the bones? Some type of weapon perhaps?

I looked at Riddick’s spot, but couldn’t see him that well in the darken area of the skull. I could still feel him though. He had his body at an angle with his head titled at me and yet his focused was still on them. I squinted at him and wondered if he’s actually aware of me. I haven’t made any noise for him to suspect anything though. Even my breathing was calm and silent. And yet, I noted he’s being careful to not show his back in my direction.

I bit my lip and slowly raised my hand to give him a silent wave. He didn’t react. Either he genuinely doesn’t know I’m here, or he does and doesn’t want to reveal it to me. I’m unsure which, but I have a feeling that if I looked away now, he’ll be right there in front of me. And strangely, I don’t feel like I’m the one in danger. My attention shifted towards the skull’s exit as Fry reappeared at it. She was snapping a fresh breath from her respirator.

Riddick moved. 

Fry was so engrossed in her task that she never noticed Riddick’s dangling form just above her head, poised to strike. I couldn’t see it before, but In his grasped was a chiseled bone shiv. 

I grasped the edge of the skull’s socket, trying to keep myself from lunging forward. My wristband was immediately in view. It reminded me to stay calm and in control as the radiation number jumped. I breathe deeply through my nose and waited for the number to go down. I’m not exactly a lawful good person, but there are things that I can’t just standby and let happen.

Riddick remained perfectly still, body wedged in a bony crevice above Fry’s head. Intently he watched her step inside. A few moments later he swung down to the ground quietly. She was less than an arm’s length away and Riddick carefully eased his blade towards her neck.

I released my hold on the eye socket in relief, as Fry took a step forward away from him. There was a darken hand print left behind on the bone, like a scorch mark. I sense Johns walked over to stand before her. “You look about ready to keel over.”

I leaned away from the eye socket and moved cautiously towards the mouth of the skull to get a clear view of them.

“I'm fine,” Fry said breathily, pulling the scarf back and wiping the sweat from her brow with her forearm. “I’m not use to this kind of heat.”

Johns clucked his tongue after taking a hit of scotch and extended the bottle to her. “Care for a taste?”

She took a step back to leaned against the skull wall, which was just inches away from Riddick’s blade. “Probably makes it worst. Dehydrated you even more.”

Riddick’s shiv reached out for the back of Fry’s neck.

“Probably right,” Johns muttered.

Fry took a drink anyway. Just as Riddick’s blade extended closer, she stepped away from the opening again.

I gritted my teeth, wondering what the hell Riddick is doing. Does he know I’m watching and is just toying with me? To see what I’ll do or say? Or is he amusing himself with us? To prove to himself that he’s got the upper hand and could’ve done something whenever he wanted. That seems a bit too much like a predator playing with its prey before swallowing it whole.

I also didn’t expect for Fry to have very shitty situational awareness. How can she not feel his presence when he’s that close to her? And why do I smell something burning? I glanced down at my hands, not realizing I had placed them flat on the jaw of the skeleton. I quickly shook them out as I noticed there was a slight glow and smoke coming from them. I softly sighed at the obvious hand prints I left behind. I hope none of the others come back here and notice it.

Johns took another swing. “You know, I woulda played road dog for these guys. You could’ve stayed behind. Probably should’ve...because, you know, if we don’t find water...” he paused to pass her the bottle. “...we may not make it back.”

Fry shrugged and grasped the bottle. “No. I...wanted to get away.”

“So I noticed. Never seen a pilot quite so ready to leave her ship.”

Riddick eased closer.

“Better keep moving,” Fry said. She handed Johns the bottle and stepped away from skull to leave.

Johns remained where he was. “What did Owens mean? ‘Bout not touching the handle?”

Fry paused, staring silently forward.

Johns pressed. “Hey, see anyone else around here?” He lowered his voice. “Just between you and me. Promise.”

When she didn’t answer he tossed the bottle aside and leaned closer to her. “Carolyn,” he said, using her name for the first time, “sitting on our secrets ain’t gonna help us now.”

I wondered if she’ll say something about it. It’s her secret to tell, but Johns is the last person that she should reveal it to. He seems like the type of person to hold it over someone’s head later on for his advantage. Even though it won’t be her fault, Riddick will know too if she does decide to talk about it now.

Fry turned, looking over her shoulder. Her face was contorted in thought, debating with herself if she should give him an answer or not. Her eyes trailed over his badge, before meeting Johns’ inquiring eyes. 

I pursed my lips, suppressing the urge to sigh heavily. She’s going to tell him. That’s fine, but I hope she doesn’t tell him that I know. I don’t need him questioning me about how I found out, when, and why I haven’t said anything to the others. It would be another excuse for him to talk to me, to get a feel for what kind of person I am.

“I’m just a second class pilot,” Fry said slowly. “And during the landing...when things were at their worst. Owens was at his best. He’s the one who wouldn’t let a pilot dump the main cabin,” She paused to make sure he knew what she was saying. “The passengers.”

Johns straightened up. “That pilot being...”

“Me.”

Johns was taken aback by her confession. 

“So, now you know.”

With the two preoccupied Riddick moved rapidly, and deftly his blade snipped a lock of Fry’s blonde hair. Not a second later, he melted back into the shadows of the hollow skull.

“Fuck,” Johns said finally. “Guess I’m more glad to be here than I thought.”

Fry looked away and kept her face carefully blank. “We should go. We’ve been lingering here for too long.” 

They walked away, heading towards clamor of the others. I watched as Riddick’s goggled eyes looked over at the scotch bottle Johns left behind. It still had one good swallow. He stared at it and slowly turned his head in my direction. I panicked, jumping back and I nearly fell as I hid from his view. I grabbed my glaive when I felt him move. I didn’t stick around long enough to know where he was going. Nor did I want to know what he’ll do if he found me.

I ran into the two kids, Hassan and Ali sitting on a broken rib bone just a few paces away from the group. They were talking animatedly about something while resting in the shady part of the skeleton. 

“Marhaba!” Hassan greeted as I came into his sight. “Hal tafhamina?

I nodded, greeting him back. I wasn’t too sure what he was asking, but I knew enough of the language to get a vague idea.

“I don’t understand. Do you speak English?” I asked first in English and then repeated it in Arabic.

“Laa, faqat qalilanaan,” he answered, using his fingers to convey how little of English he knows.

“It’s alright,” I paused, trying to remember the words. “La bas.”

Ali pulled on Hassan’s robes, whispering something to him. Hassan looked unsure, but ultimately shrugged before turning to me.

“Maa‘,” he said, cupping his hands and pretending to take a sip of it. 

Water? Is he saying that... “Are you thirsty?” I asked, letting the glaive rest in my inner elbow while digging into my bag for the bottle of water in it.

“Na’am!” Hassan exclaimed, dropping his hands.

Ali spoke too fast for me to understand completely, but I did catch Jack’s name and the word water in it. I’m guessing Ali saw me with the water bottle and wanted to know if I’m willing to share it with them as I did with Jack.

I shook the bottle in their direction. “Water. Maa’.”

They both perked up and nodded. I passed it to them so that they can both quench their thirst. They thanked me and gave it back when they were done. I smiled at them as I put the bottle away and I felt someone coming closer. I turned to see Suleiman calling out to us, and motioning for us to come over.

I nodded at him and looked at the boys. With a grin Ali surprised me by skipping over to me and reaching out to grab my hand. Hassan followed suit by grasping my other hand. They tugged at my arms wanting to escort me in Suleiman’s direction and I let them, amused at their playfulness.

“They were not too much trouble?” Imam asked, with mirth twinkling in his eyes.

“Of course not,” I replied as they bought me to stand near Imam. Both boys dropped my hands and started chatting up with Suleiman. “They’re good kids.”

Imam smiled, patting Ali's shoulder as he passed him. “Have you come across anything interesting?” 

“I suppose I did,” I said pulling out the tooth for him to see before putting it away. “These big guys might have been taken out by whatever this tooth belonged to. It certainly matched a lot of the indents on all of the bones.”

“Surely, these creatures are long gone by now.”

“Johns certainly thinks so,” I replied curtly. 

“You do not agree?” he inquired.

“I find it strange for a planet as this one to be completely dead of life,” I said fiddling with a stray thread poking out of the pocket of my bag. “Those skeletons prove it was possible at one point and that it may still be true even now. We can’t simply rule it out that we’re alone just because we haven’t seen or heard any signs of life besides our own.”

Imam hummed in thought for a moment, then spoke up. “By the grace of Allah, I have hope that we will be fine. But if there are other dangers besides Riddick, it does not hurt to exercise a bit of forethought and cautiousness.”

I relaxed my shoulders, knowing that he’ll be on guard for other things as well. I glanced at the younger ones, catching his eyes and nodded in their direction. “Let them know to stick together from now on.”

“Paranoid much?” Johns piped up, his shotgun resting on his shoulder. “Riddick is the only real threat we need to be concerned about.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course, but we shouldn’t be only on the look out for him.”

“Better to be cautious,”  Fry sighed, pulling her scarf back up. “Then sorry. I don’t want to get caught off guard by something else entirely.”

“Exactly,” I said, plucking the thread out and letting the wind carry it away. “We got nothing to lose in being extra vigilant.”

“Fine, but unless I see evidence of something else that’s more pressing,” Johns said impatiently and gesturing vaguely. “Then I’m gonna keep my attention all on Riddick.”

“Fair enough.”

“Let’s go,” Johns said, turning and heading off. “There’s nothing here but a pile of old bones.”

We followed after him, going back into the same positions as before. Johns waited a good five minutes, marching a few paces in front of the group. Then he held up his hand. As the others waited, he hopped onto a low ridge and pulled out the scope to his eye. He scanned the boneyard, looking for something in particular.

I looked at where he was staring and noticed it was the same spot that he and Fry were ‘alone.’ I doubt he knew Riddick was there the entire time. But maybe he had a gut feeling that Riddick was still somewhere around. That he may have returned to the same spot when they left. And Johns has the need to check it one last time before we go. Or maybe there's another reason that he has to look, like he left something...

The bottle he left behind. Clever.

“Didn’t bite,” he muttered.

“What?”

Johns glanced at Fry and shook his head. Then he returned the scope to this eye and looked again.

It was still left untouched.

“Thought he might be coolin’ it in the boneyard,” Johns explained. “Could either double-back to the ship or slip in behind us. So I left the bottle out as bait.”

I looked at Fry, wondering if she’s finally caught on that Johns isn’t someone to be underestimated. After all, if Riddick is such a big threat as Johns says he is than there might’ve been a reason as to why only Johns was sent to travel with him without backup. However, I still find that situation to be suspiciously strange.

Johns reluctantly came down from his perch. “But nah. He didn’t bite,” he mumbled, half-surprised.

We resumed our trek in silence. 

I lagged behind a bit, sensing Riddick’s faint heat-energy going in the other direction. It looks like he’s going back to the fallen ship, while we head onward. I wonder if Johns had taken the trouble to retrace his steps, he would have found the scotch in his decoy bottle had been emptied and replaced with sand? I know I would have done just that, especially if I was in Riddick’s position. Though, I suppose he could have also replace it with urine if the timing was right. That would’ve been gross, but hilarious if Johns did go back for it and almost drank it without smelling it first.

“Is something funny?” Johns asked, breaking the silence while keeping his eyes forward.

“No,” I said, digging the glaive into the sand as I walked. 


End file.
